"M'm, how good things smell," she began, to break down the hostility she saw in Budge's eye, "Is that for the party?"
"'S going to be," and Budge stirred more vigorously than ever.
"Mrs. Budge, will there be enough food for—some extra ones—I've invited or I'm—going to invite?"
Budge dropped her spoon. "Well, no one ever went hungry in this house," she answered crisply. "May I ask who your guests are?" Budge permitted herself the pleasure of a meaning inflection on the "your."
"Well, I'm not quite sure—yet, only I wanted to know about the food—" Robin retreated step by step toward the door, her limp exaggerated by the movement. "I'm waiting for word from my guardian."
"Robin! Humph," Budge flung at the door as it closed upon the girl. "If it wasn't that this house depended on me I'd drop my spoon and walk out this minit, I would, or my name ain't Hannah Budge. Guests! Like as not some of these Mill truck."
More than the snowstorm threatened the success of Robin's "at-home." For Cornelius Allendyce was suddenly prostrated by a bad attack of sciatica. And his sister declared she could not leave him; at such times only her patient and faithful ministrations eased his intense suffering.
"I'll telephone to Wassumsic right away and don't you worry," she begged of him, "they'll get along somehow or other."
"They'll have to," the guardian growled, between groans.
But before Miss Effie could telephone, Robin's telegram came. Cornelius Allendyce opened it with indifferent fingers, read it, then rose upright with such suddenness that a loud cry of pain burst from him.