“Dot’s. She came and went off again. Bert passed, driving a ten-cent express and she hailed him and they’ve gone over to Mr. Kittredge’s to get the books he promised.”
“The crazy children! Where will we ever put books to-day, with the room in such a state?”
Catherine fitted the key to the lock, and the band 48 of cleaners entered, unrolled their big aprons and began, with much energy and good nature, to sweep down the walls and ceiling and gather the milliner’s rubbish into two big baskets found in the shed. Elsmere picked over the pile, making rapturous discoveries.
“Aren’t these very small bushel baskets?” asked Agnes. “They fill up so fast.”
“They’re just about the average size, I think,” remarked Catherine. “They don’t vary much more than yardsticks do in length! But I do wish some of those lazy boys were here to carry them out and empty them for us.”
“What’s that?” asked Max’s voice in the doorway. Immaculate in white flannels, with Bess by his side, bewilderingly beruffled, he viewed the scene before him dispassionately.
Catherine and Agnes, red and warm and somewhat dishevelled, returned the gaze for a moment silently. In that moment an entirely natural resentment was forced into outward pleasantness.
“We were just wishing some one was here to make a bonfire of this débris for us,” said Catherine cheerfully, “but never mind. There comes Polly with a man from Henderson’s, and he’ll take it out.”
“All right. Wish you luck. We’d stop and help, only we’ve got to meet Arch and Win, and we’re late already. So long!” and Max lifted his cap, 49 Bess waved her sunshade, and the two went around the corner out of sight.
The man from Henderson’s did some lifting very willingly, rescued what was left of the water Bertha was tugging from the park, lighted the stove and even stayed to poke the bonfire he made for them in the street, and keep it from spreading.