“SHE LEANED HER SHABBY ELBOWS ON THE GATE”
Pauline, in her confusion, grew red and redder, while, despite inarticulate protestations, she was propelled into the house and on to a large lounge.
“Lay your head back,” commanded the nurse, appearing with an ammonia-bottle in one hand and a fan in the other.
“It’s nothing—nothing at all,” gasped Pauline, between shame and the fumes of ammonia. “The day was a little warm, and I walked home, and I was so busy I ate no lunch”—as if that were a change from her habits—“and all at once I felt faint. But I’m all right now.”
“Well, I don’t wonder you’re faint,” cried Mrs. Armstrong; “you oughtn’t to do that way. Now you just got to lie still—— Oh, that’s only Ikey. Ikey, you get a glass of wine for this lady; it’s Miss Beaumont.”
The tall young man in the gray suit and the blue flannel shirt blushed a little under his sunburn as he bowed. “Pleased to meet you, miss,” said he, promptly, before he disappeared.
“This is a great day for us,” continued the mother, releasing the ammonia from duty, and beginning to fan vigorously. “Ike has set up as master-builder—only two men, and he does most of the work; but he’s got a house all to himself, and the chance of some bigger ones. We’re having a little celebration. You must excuse the paper on the lounge; I put it down when we unpacked the organ.”
“Oh, did the organ come?” said the son.
“It surely did, and we’ve played on it already.”
“Why, did you get the music? Was it in the box, too?”