his wife screams: "But I have to stay here, Bess, or it will fall."
Mrs. Tarrant: "Well, just hold off to one side for a moment, can't you? Really, I can't see a thing."
Mr. Tarrant, leaning for a second at a perilous angle, and sneaking under his arm: "There! If you didn't see it then," adjusting himself with difficulty, "you never will in this life. Unfortunately, I never took up Japanese juggling in college—they didn't offer it then."
Mrs. Tarrant, absently, selecting another picture: "Do they now?"
Mr. Tarrant: "Heavens, yes! And art-photography and landscape-gardening and palmistry. Which leads into the question: Does education really educate—What! Are you going to put that in here?"
Mrs. Tarrant: "Why, yes. Wouldn't you?"
Mr. Tarrant: " No, I should not. I think it's improper. So does your uncle George."
Mrs. Tarrant, angrily: "I don't care if he does! The old prig! Who told you?"
Mr. Tarrant, looking shy: "He did."
Mrs. Tarrant: "Richard! I don't believe you. The idea! Horrid old thing!"
Mr. Tarrant, magnanimously: "Oh, well, never mind. I can stand it. I'll take my guests into the dining-room. And he may not come up here—he hates the elevated." He hangs the next picture in silence. Mrs. Tarrant's fixed and resentful gaze is directed into space. "Give me another, Bess. Give me that lad with the horses."
Mrs. Tarrant, her eyes still fixed, mechanically selects and hands him a third picture. He strings in the wire, whistling softly: "You know, Bess, we'll have these done in no time; it 'll be a great help."
Mrs. Tarrant, burying her face suddenly: "Uncle George is an old pig! I never liked him. Th-the idea of his s-saying that! Did he?"
Mr. Tarrant, in amazement: "Saying what?"
Mrs. Tarrant: "You know."
Mr. Tarrant: "Oh, that! Great Scott! what does it matter what the old granny said? He doesn't like striped socks, either, but I never let it keep me awake nights."
The bell rings.
Mrs. Tarrant wipes her eyes, arranges her hair, and kisses her husband's chin forgivingly. She opens the door, admitting a thin darky Hall-boy in buttons, who inquires: "Yo' ain't expectin' a dray, was yo'?"
Mr. Tarrant, calling out with elaborate irony: "A dray? Heavens, no! If there's anything on earth I don't expect, it's that. Once I thought I had reason to, but not now."
Mrs. Tarrant, excitedly: "Hush, Dick! Yes, of course we are. Is it out there? Tell them to come—"
The Hall-boy: "It ain't here—no, m'm. I sent 'em away. Yo' name's Parrot, ain't it?"
Mrs. Tarrant, icily: "The name is Tarrant."
The Hall-boy: "Oh. The janitor he said Parrot. The man said the name was Turrant, like that, he says: Turrant. So I says they ain't no parties—"
Mr. Tarrant, leaping to the hall: "Where did he go? Back to the old place?"
The Hall-boy: "No, suh. He said there was another fam'ly further up, on C'lumbus, an' maybe he'd mixed 'em up, and he'd try there 'fore he went back. He said they was named some kind of bird, too."
Mr. Tarrant: "Oh, Lord! Do you know how far up?"
The Hall-boy: "Eighty-six, he said. He ain't been gone long. I come up 's soon as I thought. I just happened to think it might be you, after all. He was sure 'twas you, the man was, though."
Mr. Tarrant, seizing his hat from the drawing-room: "I'm going up to try to catch him, Bess. If any one else comes for me, boy, let them in—do you hear? You've made a lot of trouble."
The Hall-boy: "Yes, suh. He says it jest like that, Turrant—"
Mr. Tarrant pushes him aside and flies out of the door, followed by the boy. Mrs. Tarrant sinks into the Morris chair, patting her eyes with her handkerchief. The bell rings violently. She opens the door, admitting the Boss Painter—a tall man with an oily smile—and two Assistant Painters—fat, ferocious-looking creatures—laden with pails, brushes, and miles of filthy grayish cloth.
