Bobs at the last moment had tied an old shoe to the back of the truck with a white ribbon, and there it hung dangling and bobbing in a manner most festive, while through a small hole in the sole of it a stream of rice trickled, but in the thronging, surging masses of East Side humanity this little drama was scarcely noticed.
When Mr. and Mrs. Cheniska had disappeared up Third Avenue, Gloria turned to smile at little Nell Wiggin.
“Now, let us make haste to get your new apartment in order that you may wire your brother to come at once; that is, if a wire will reach him.”
“Yes, indeed it will, and he is eagerly awaiting it,” Nell happily replied. “Since our foster-father’s death my brother has been living in town with the missionary of whom I told you, the one who used to visit the remote farms and who brought my brother, years ago, his first book of poetry. They have been close friends ever since.”
But when the girls reached the little apartment, they found that there was nothing to be done. It was in perfect order, and the thoughtful bride had even left part of her wedding flowers that they might be there to welcome the new agent of the model tenements.
“There seems to be nothing to do here,” beamingly Miss Wiggin said. “Perhaps I would better go at once to my room and pack.”
“I will go with you and help,” Bobs told her.
“Then both of you come to the Pensinger mansion for lunch,” Lena May suggested.
“What did you do about notifying Mr. Queerwitz?” Bobs inquired an hour later as the two girls started down Fourth Avenue toward the basement home of Nell Wiggin.
“Nothing as yet. That is, I merely telephoned that I would not be there today. I suppose I will have to give two weeks’ notice. Let us go there at once and I will do so.”