LAUNDRY AGENCY
TONICS
That is what the sign said in red letters on a white background. The windows, many paned, allowed uncertain glimpses of various articles: tops of red and blue and green, boxes of pencils, pads of paper, jars of candy, many bottles of ink, a catcher’s glove, a dozen tennis-balls, some paper kites—
Laurie dragged Ned inside, through a screen door that, on opening, caused a bell to tinkle somewhere in the farther recesses of the little building. It was dark inside, after the glare of the street, and refreshingly cool. Laurie, leading the way, collided with a bench, caromed off the end of a counter, and became aware of a figure, dimly seen, beyond the width of a show-case.
“Have you anything cold to drink?” asked Ned, leaning across the show-case.
“Ginger-ale or tonic or something?” Laurie elaborated.
“Yes, indeed,” replied the apparition, in a strangely familiar voice. “If you will step over to the other side, please—”
Ned and Laurie leaned farther across the show-case.
It was the girl in the white middy dress.