The first thing she did was to go to the telephone.
“Mrs. Mount, this is Belle Somers speaking. I wish you to give me some lettuce from your conservatories for the poor boys’ feast.”
* * * * *
“Six heads.”
* * * * *
“Oh! I’m sorry. I’ll tell Mrs. Lien,” and she banged on the receiver, and sat on the seat beside me, her face twitching with annoyance.
“What is it?” I asked impulsively.
“Wait a minute.”
The telephone rang again.
“Yes.” Mumsie answered.