The soldier snorted and then hurried to face Aunt Martha, who had come down-stairs. “Is that right?” he asked in a surly but milder voice.
“My nephew has told you the truth,” Aunt Martha replied with dignity.
“How many rooms are in the house?”
“The living-room and three rooms up-stairs.”
The sergeant-major produced a piece of paper. “Show me to the rooms up-stairs,” he said and walked toward the stairway.
“Why do you wish to see them?” asked Aunt Martha, somewhat alarmed and bewildered.
The soldier made no reply but mounted the steps. Don followed him closely. After a brief inspection of the rooms they came down, and the soldier wrote something on the slip of paper. “You’ll have two men to billet,” he said. “So you’d better fix up that big room at the front.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort,” Aunt Martha said indignantly.
The man’s red face became redder than ever; he started to say something, then checked himself and laughed. “Two men,” he repeated and strode toward the door and slammed it behind him.
“O Donald!” cried Aunt Martha. “If your uncle were only here!”