Mrs. Bradley (as she opens a drawer and takes out a half-dozen patent flat-irons and a handle). This has something to do with it. Why didn’t you take out the drawer first?
Yardsley. It wasn’t my fault. They’d started with it before I took hold. I didn’t know it had a drawer, though I did wonder what it was that rattled around inside of it.
Bradley. It wasn’t for me to suggest taking the drawer out. Thaddeus ought to have thought of that.
Perkins (angrily). Well, of all—
Mrs. Perkins. Never mind. It’s here, and it’s all right.
Yardsley. That’s so. We musn’t quarrel. If we get started, we’ll never stop. Now, Perkins, roll up that rug, and we’ll get things placed, and then we’ll be through.
Barlow. Come on; I’ll help. Bradley, get those pictures off the rug. Don’t be so careless of Mrs. Perkins’s property.
Bradley. Careless? See here now, Barlow—
Mrs. Bradley. Now, Edward—no temper. Take the pictures out.
Bradley. And where shall I take the pictures out to?