“What in the world are we doing up here?” queried Mary-'Gusta. “There aren't any wholesale houses here, I'm sure. Haven't you made a mistake, Uncle Shad?” Shadrach, who had been consulting a page of his pocket memorandum book, replied that he cal'lated he'd got his bearin's, and, to the girl's astonishment, stopped before a brick dwelling with a colonial doorway and a white stone step which actually shone from scrubbing, and rang the bell.
The maid who answered the bell wore a white apron which crackled with starch. She looked as if she too had, like the step, been scrubbed a few minutes before.
“This is No.—, ain't it?” inquired the Captain. “Humph! I thought so. I ain't so much of a wreck yet but that I can navigate Boston without a pilot. Is Mr. Keith in?”
The maid, who had received the pilot statement with uncomprehending astonishment, looked relieved.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Mr. Keith's here. Are you the ones he's expectin'? Walk in, please.”
They entered the house. It was as spotlessly tidy within as without. The maid ushered them into a parlor where old mahogany and old family portraits in oil were very much in evidence.
“Sit down, please,” she said. “I'll tell Mr. Keith you're here.”
She left the room. Mary-'Gusta turned to the Captain in amazed agitation.
“Uncle Shad,” she demanded, “why on earth did you come HERE to see Mr. Keith? Couldn't you have seen him at South Harniss?”
Shadrach shook his head. “Not today I couldn't,” he said. “He's up here today.”