Mr. Bladen closed the door firmly, the chimes ringing good-by as Peggy found herself outside. She hadn’t even thanked him, she realized, looking back at the house. Why was he in such a sudden hurry, she wondered? And then she remembered—poetry! Peggy laughed softly. Mr. Bladen must have had a new idea and wanted to write it down quickly. She wondered if the poem would be about the theater, or Angel Street, or if the sofa could have given him an idea, or the vases. It could be anything! Peggy smiled broadly as she stepped down the little path to the gate, carefully holding the vases and lamp. What a surprise to find someone like Mr. Bladen in Lake Kenabeek! It proved that it paid to get into town once in a while—there might be other fascinating people to meet in this resort.
Peggy leaned forward to open the gate and the lamp started to tumble. Grabbing it, she almost let go of one of the precious vases which started to slide out of her hand. It kept slipping and she couldn’t get a secure grasp on it. In a flash she saw an awful picture of shattered porcelain, and Mr. Bladen’s disappointment at having entrusted something so valuable to her. Just as it was about to fall entirely and crash on the pavement, two hands reached over the gate, grabbed the vase, and removed the lamp from her arms.
“Now maybe you’ll be able to see where you’re going!” A handsome young man in a conservative summer suit stood there smiling, and Peggy sighed with relief.
“Thank you so much!” she said gratefully. “I don’t know what I’d have done if they’d been broken. You’ve really saved the day—I can’t thank you enough!”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” the young man said, grinning, “It may be enough to know that I’ve saved the day! How have I saved the day, by the way?” He looked amused and interested, and Peggy laughed.
“By the way, you’ve saved the day and helped the play!” she rhymed. “Really you have. And you’ve also saved one of Mr. Bladen’s precious antiques!”
He raised an eyebrow, turning the vase over in his hand. “Is it really good?” he asked. “And what does it have to do with a play?”
“We’re going to use them in Angel Street,” Peggy explained. She liked this friendly young man who somehow made her feel as if she’d known him for years. Was he another interesting resident, she wondered. “I’m Peggy Lane from the Summer Theater,” she said, “and next week’s play is Angel Street.”
“Oh,” he said slowly, and Peggy was surprised to see him frown slightly. But then he smiled again, handing back the vase. “How are you going to manage all this?” he asked, still holding on to the lamp. “I don’t think you can carry them all without breaking something. Can I drop you somewhere?”
Peggy noticed a car parked a few feet away and shook her head, declining, “No, thank you—”