"It is too late to do anything with the chair, I'm afraid, but we don't want to forget we have met you," said Alan, rising to open the door for Bab with such politeness that she said afterward he "made her feel as neat and nice as if he had been a paint-eraser."
"Call Violet to take away the chair; tell her to send it down to the janitor, and fold up this sheet on the floor, Bab," said Jessamy. "I always did suspect the women's corners in papers that tell one how to make toilet-tables and chairs out of old barrels or packing-cases. Bab has spent three days struggling with this chair, only to throw it away at last."
"One of the New York papers had a burlesque Household Department once," said Alan, as he closed the door behind Bab, and turned to help Phyllis tie up her boxes. "Among other things, it told the gentle reader never to throw away her cold buckwheat cakes—that they made a lovely dado glued at irregular intervals on blue denim, or, used in the same way, were most artistic as a portière border. I always think of it when I read these crazy directions for making furniture out of coal-hods and things. Look here; why do you all put away your work, Miss Phyllis? You'll make Heather and me feel ourselves nuisances."
"We were only doing these things for want of better interests," said Phyllis. "I'd like to show you my little home looking respectable. I've told you so much of how it came to be. Do you still call David Heather? That was Rick's name for him. And you need not call me Miss Phyllis here, any more than in Boston. We are all going to be informal friends."
"There's Tom!" exclaimed Jessamy, as the bell rang twice, and twice again, with a short pause between, and sprang to open the door for the doctor.
"How is everything to-day, Jessamy? Where's Bab? What is this—company?" added Tom, lowering his voice, but to a no less audible key.
"Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Campbell—Dr. Leighton," said Jessamy, ushering Tom into the room; "Phyllis's Boston friends, you know, Tom. And Nixie," she added, as the little dog followed, shaking off the snow.
"Glad to see you," said Tom, with cordial hand-grasps to each. "Here's my little lady," he added, turning joyfully to meet Bab transformed into her pretty self, though black paint still surmounted her knuckles. Jessamy took the opportunity to slip out for like improvements, and Tom cried: "Guess what's happened, Bab! I was called in for croup to the millionaire baby on the corner, and delighted the family by my skill; relieved the choking heir at once—that's not a pun; I didn't mean choking air! Only think! And there are five millionaire offspring in the family, not one of whom has had a single childish disease; the mother told me so! Suppose I should get that practice!"
"Hope you will, I'm sure. Phyllis told us about you, and your other prospects," said Alan, glancing at Barbara, who was gazing proudly at Tom.
"The door-bell again!" cried Phyllis, as it rang. "That's Ruth's ring." And she opened the door to their friend.