"Bab and I are in the same plight; how do people get on in such narrow space?" sighed Mrs. Wyndham.
"You'll have to have a wigwam," said Tom.
"A wigwam! That would have no closet at all; besides, where could we build it in New York?" laughed Phyllis.
"In that corner; I'll make it," said Tom. "It's a corner shelf, with hooks in the under side and a curtain around it. It's the only kind of closet I have, for my room is a hall bedroom. You can keep things dust won't hurt in there. Then you want a divan—a woven-wire cot-bed, with the legs cut off, fastened by hinges to a box made to fit it. We could upholster it between us. It would be larger than the ready-made divans, and hold more; you'll be surprised to see what it holds. Then, if one of you were ill, it would be useful as a couch."
"There spoke the doctor," said Jessamy. "A couch is always useful. I suppose we shall have to have a trunk in each room besides," she added ruefully.
"If you could bring yourself to part with that table, you could set the trunk—the flat-topped one—in the window, and I could case it in with white pine; we'd cover it all over with felt, and it wouldn't be a very bad-looking book-stand," said Tom.
"Well, you are a genius!" cried Bab, in open admiration.
Phyllis sang softly under her breath, to the tune of "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning":
"All hail to the doctor who seems to be able
To mend up a nose, or to make up a table!
We gladly would cheer him, but that it seems risky,
For cheers in a boarding-house may be too frisky."