"Nonsense—I like plenty of room. Never could bear to have a lot of people hanging around. No man can accomplish anything with an army of women and things hanging to his coat-tails!"
"Tst!" observed Miss Bancroft, and because there was no answer to that, she could retire with the satisfaction of having had the last word.
CHAPTER VII
A MAN OF "PRINCIPLES"
"One dozen stockings—six woolen and six silk—imagine owning six pairs of silk stockings—-six nighties—don't they look luxurious, all beribboned and fluffy? One thick sweater, one pair of stout boots—I hope these boots are stout enough; they look as if they could kick a hole through the side of a battle-ship. One mackintosh—now where under the sun can I put this mackintosh?"
"Oh, just roll it up in a bundle and slam it in that corner near your shoes. It'll keep 'em from bumping around. My dear, you look as if you'd been in a tornado."
"In a tornado! I am a tornado." Nancy lifted a flushed face, and gazed at Alma through a haze of tumbled hair. Then she sat back on her heels in front of the open trunk, and seizing her locks near the temples, pulled them frenziedly. "Alma Prescott, if you sit there another moment looking calm, I'll throw this shoe-horn at you. Do anything, scream, run around in circles, pant, anything, but don't look calm. Every minute I'm forgetting something vital. Let me see, nail-brush, tooth-brush, cold-cream——"
"If you go over that formula again, I'll be a mopping, mowing idiot," observed Alma serenely, from the window-seat. "I wonder how one mops and mows—it sounds awfully idiotic, doesn't it? I saw you put the nail-brush and the tooth-brush and the cold-cream in the tray there—left-hand corner. Now, for goodness' sake, forget about them—it's just little things like that that unhinge the greatest minds. You're horribly bad company while you're packing a trunk."
"Well, anyhow, it's nearly done now—and yours is ready."