They had hardly crossed the bridge when Master Tommy was tired of the cart and decided to get out. He began to howl his loudest, and since they did not want to present a roaring boy to Mrs. McNulty, they were forced to let him out. Then he insisted upon pushing the buggy himself.
The McNulty homestead had been converted into apartments a few years before. There were a few apartments in Plainfield, and the McNulty one, because of its central location and history, was considered the best. Just as they approached the steps leading up, Tommy banged the buggy into a tree. As he had pushed with all his might he tumbled smack down on the sidewalk. He shed real tears, which mingled with the dirt his face had collected from the sidewalk. One fat knee had gone through the faded overalls, and was stained with blood. The girls picked him up, soothed him and repaired the damages as best they could.
They parked the cart at the steps, hauled Tommy up and rang the McNulty bell. The colored maid eyed them curiously, and answered indifferently that Mrs. McNulty was in. They followed her through a hall that smelled of incense and into a crowded living room, where on a chaise longue, old Mrs. McNulty was reclining. She was so ugly that Joan thought she looked like a witch, in spite of the gray, marceled hair and the trailing lavender robe she had on. She was holding a green bottle to her nose. “Yes?” she lifted her eyebrows. “What is it?”
Both girls started to speak at once, then halted, and ended by being embarrassed. Amy was seized with an uncontrollable desire to giggle. Finally, Joan, giving Amy a withering glance, managed to explain that the Day Nursery needed larger quarters and that the Historical Building had been suggested. She ended her plea by pushing Tommy forward and saying that there was no room for him in the present Day Nursery.
Perhaps it had been a mistake to bring him along. He was not very appealing, with the tear in his overalls, and his dusty sandals on the purple velvet of the rug. He reached for the green bottle, and when it was lifted out of his grasp, he opened his mouth to yell.
“A nasty boy.” Mrs. McNulty continued to sniff at the bottle. “Doesn’t look clean.”
Joan swooped him up before he let out the yell entirely, and tickled him to make him laugh instead. It was too bad, after they had worked so hard to make him presentable.
“And you’ve come to see whether I’ll change my mind about the relics in the building?” went on the old lady. “Of course, I can’t keep the county from giving up part of the building if they decide to, but in that event, I shall most certainly withdraw the things I have there.”
Joan faced the woman over Tommy’s mop of yellow hair. “But what are old relics compared to live babies?” she demanded.
“The relics mean a great deal to me and—to the county, too,” she said, quietly. “Why, the little bed that my father’s father slept in when he was a baby is in that building. I’ll not change my mind.”