“I suppose not,” Phil said.
“This man, a Mr. Taggart,” Penny went on, “recently moved to town for the summer and needs work badly. He offered to handle our laundry for us at a flat rate of only fifteen dollars a week.”
Phil whistled. “Say, that is cheap!” He added teasingly: “Maybe he’ll take the first batch in and never come back!”
Penny laughed. “He’s already taken in one big bundle of sheets and pillow cases and, according to Ann Mary, brought them back snowy white. She’s terribly pleased. I had no idea we could get anyone to do it so cheaply. When the place is filled with guests he’ll probably demand more money, but let’s not object. Kitty says the laundry problem in all summer hotels is usually the hardest one to solve.”
Phil nodded. “If the place really fills up, we’ll not only have to raise Taggart’s pay, but we’ll have to get some people from the village to come out by the day and do the ironing.”
“I’ve thought of that,” Penny said. “The same girls who are going to help wait on the tables when we really get going are going to do some ironing between meals.”
“You think of everything,” Phil said approvingly. “I’m proud of you, Sis.”
Penny sighed. “You shouldn’t be. I couldn’t do a thing without the advice of Ann Mary and Theresa and Kitty. And, frankly, Phil, I’m getting cold feet at the last minute. What if the whole project is a flop?”
“It won’t be,” Phil said reassuringly. “You’re just tired and getting a case of stage fright.” He tucked her hand through his arm and led her toward the stairs. “After a good night’s sleep you’ll be your old irrepressible self again. Full of vim, vigor and vitality!”