At lunch-time they grudgingly admitted him, and, although they protested that they were not half through, he was naively astonished at the change they had brought to pass. For the first time in many days the place was thoroughly warm and dry; it likewise displayed an orderliness and comfort to which it had been a stranger. From some obscure source the girls had gathered pictures for the bare walls; they had hung figured curtains at the windows; there were fresh white covers for bed, bureau, and washstand. His clothes had been rearranged, and posted in conspicuous places were written directions telling him of their whereabouts. One of the cards bore these words: "Your soup! Take one in cup of hot brandy and water before retiring." Beneath were a bottle and a box of bouillon tablets. A shining tea-kettle was humming on the stove.
"This is splendid," he agreed, when they had completed a tour of inspection. "But where are my blue-prints?"
"In the drafting-room, where they belong. This room is for rest and sleep. We want to see it in this condition when we come back."
"Where did you find the fur rug?" He indicated a thick bearskin beside the bed.
"We stole it from Mr. Parker," they confessed, shamelessly. "He had two."
Eliza continued complacently: "We nearly came to blows with the chef when we kidnapped his best boy. We've ordered him to keep this place warm and look after your clothes and clean up every morning. He's to be your valet and take care of you."
"But—we're dreadfully short-handed in the mess-house," O'Neil protested.
"We've given the chef your bill of fare, and your man Ben will see that you eat it."
"I won't stand for soup. It—"
"Hush! Do you want us to come again?" Natalie demanded.