“Oh, what creatures boys are! No, Mrs. Flannigan!” Mrs. Tiptop suddenly called to the washerwoman, who was packing the dishes, “don’t put that big platter on top of the small cups. Put the big dishes on the bottom of the box, and the light ones on top.”
“All right, mum. Sure, movin’ is a terrible thing, isn’t it, mum?”
“Indeed it is, Mrs. Flannigan. Now, Tommy, just slip on your old clothes and you can help. I wish Nellie was here. I need her.”
“She’s coming—I just met her. But why are we moving, ma, and what’s the rush?”
“Your papa has a new position in Riverdale, and we are going to live in a nice large house there. We didn’t expect to go so soon, and I thought I would have more time to pack, but they want your father there right away, and so we are going to-morrow.”
“But I didn’t hear anything about it,” insisted Tommy.
“No, we hadn’t quite made up our minds until last night, and we didn’t expect to move for a week. Then word came this noon that we would have to be in Riverdale by to-morrow, so your father had to go out and get some vans for the furniture. I told Nellie about it this noon, but you rushed off in such a hurry after dinner that I didn’t get a chance to speak to you.”
“I wanted to play ball,” explained Tommy. “Oh, say, I don’t want to move, ma!”
“Why not?” and Mrs. Tiptop looked down on Tommy from the step-ladder, carefully holding a picture she had just taken off the wall. “Why not, my son?”
“Why, I won’t know any of the fellows there; I’ll have to go to a new school, and I’ve just started a baseball nine here. Oh, ma, can’t I stay here? I could board at Patsie Cook’s house. His ma is awful good, and she makes dandy cake! I don’t want to move.”