“I’d say you’re right,” returned Chauncey. “But I smell cabbage. Somebody has that much anyway.”
Chauncey remained in the car, after helping Budd lift out the larger of the baskets. Lilian jumped out, though saying in a low tone to Betty that she “certainly hated to go up that stairway.”
“Well,” replied Betty, “it would probably be better if there weren’t too many. You stay with Chauncey and Kathryn, Lilian. I’ll go with Budd.”
“Me, too,” said Kathryn, hopping out of the car. “I see a policeman, Chauncey. We’re all right. He’s coming this way.”
While the policeman really approached and stopped a moment to chat with Chauncey, probably with an idea of protecting the good-looking car and its occupants as well as with possible curiosity, Budd led the way upstairs to the door on the third floor to which their instructions directed them. He set down the basket and knocked.
A dingy little girl answered the knock. “How-do-you-do,” said Budd. “Is this the place where Mrs. Harry Woods lives?”
“Yes, sir,” politely said the little girl, eying the basket.
“Ina,” said a voice, “ask them in.” A tired-looking but pleasant-faced woman came from some room beyond, laid a baby upon a large double bed that stood in one corner, and came toward the door. She made a gesture toward a pail of suds that stood near the stove. A tub balanced upon an upturned chair; and a mop was in the pail. “I’m sorry that we aren’t cleaned up, and so late in the afternoon; but the baby was cross. His teeth bother him.”
Budd looked at Betty and stepped back behind her, uncertain whether the plan included entering the place or not. Betty, smiling, said, “Oh, that’s quite all right. There is always so much cleaning to do with a family. Miss Hogarth told us where you lived, but we’ll not come in; we just brought you a little present, a reminder of Thanksgiving, you know.”
Tears came into the eyes of the woman. “Miss Hogarth—may God bless her! She was here once.”