"Boxes am ree-diculous," he remarked, "but furniture isn't. Isn't there some piece of furniture that they'd like better than anything else we could give them?"
"I've got an idea," announced Roger.
"Quick, quick; catch it!" and Tom tossed over his cap to hold any notions that might trickle away from the main mass.
"Since we've been doing this furniture making for Rose House I've spent a good deal of time in the carpenter shop on Main Street. You know it belongs to the son of those old people down by the bridge, Mr. and Mrs. Atwood."
"The ones we gave a 'show' for?" asked Delia.
"The same people. The son was pleased at our going there and he hasn't minded my fooling round his place and he's given me a lot of points. He makes good furniture himself."
"As good as yours?" asked James dryly.
"Go on!" retorted Roger. "He's a real joiner rather than a carpenter, but there isn't any chance for a joiner in a town like Rosemont, so he does any kind of carpentering."
"Go ahead, Roger. We don't care for the gentleman's biography."
"Yes, you do; it has some bearing on what I'm going to propose."