V
They all stood in the sunshine in front of the house, watching the tan top of the Gilberts' car disappear into the alders.
Spencer sighed ostentatiously.
"Wisht we had a nottomobul," he said. "Mr. Bill let me help him squirt oil and I filled a grease cup and put it back."
"Should say you did!" scoffed Marian. "Look at your sleeve! You're awful dirty."
"Aw, shut up," growled Spencer.
"Shut up! Shut up!" shrieked Letty, dancing on her toes, and pulling at Catherine's hand. "Shut up!"
Catherine, who had been caught in a tight knot of confused thought by Henrietta's final mockery, "You won't come down for weeks, I know. And here's your job, waiting for you! You can't break through!" came back with a little start.
Spencer was staring dolefully down the lane; Marian hovered at his smeared elbow, ready to taunt him again if he stayed silent; Letty pranced as if she wanted to say, "Sic 'em!"
Catherine smiled. She knew how they felt. The arrival of the Gilberts was a large stone dropped into the smooth evenness of their days. Their departure—she couldn't carry on that figure, but she knew the emptiness it left, a funny little sickish feeling, almost a fear lest the days would stay empty.