“Wasn’t she mean,” said Mary. “I’m going to make you work anyhow, just out of spite.”
Other women now arrived, armed with no end of what Tom called “first aid stuff,” and with bundles of long knitting needles, silent weapons for the great drive.
Tom was glad enough to retreat before this advancing host and carry several large boxes into the cellar. Then he hauled the old grocery counter around so that the women working at it could be seen from the street. The table, too, he pulled this way and that, to suit the changing fancy of the ladies in authority.
“There, I guess that’s about right,” said Mrs. Temple, eying it critically; “now, there’s just one thing more—if you’ve time. There’s a thing down in the cellar with little compartments, sort of——”
“I know,” said Tom; “the old spice cabinet.”
“I wonder if we could bring it up together,” said Mrs. Temple.
“I’ll get it,” Tom said.
“You couldn’t do it alone,” said Mary. “I’ll help.”
“I can do it better without anybody getting in the way,” said Tom with characteristic bluntness, and Mary and her mother were completely squelched.
“Gracious, now he has grown,” said Mrs. Temple, as Tom disappeared downstairs.