failed to read my nature correctly—truly, you have!"
Mrs. Tarrant, crossly: "I never pretended to read your nature. Do you realize that the van hasn't come all this time? Where is it?"
Mr. Tarrant, setting the sherry-glasses, which he has hastily removed from the bag, on to the table: "My dear child, if I could tell you where that van was, I shouldn't be here juggling with the marble gentleman and the plaster lady I mentioned before. I should be drawing ten dollars a half-hour, sitting behind a plate-glass window with TARRANT THE PALMIST on it."
Mrs. Tarrant, smiling reluctantly: "You are the silliest thing! What shall we do with all that glass, dear?"
Mr. Tarrant, looking at her in amazement: "What shall we do with it? Why, how do I know? What were you going to do with it when you began?"
Mrs. Tarrant, apologetically: "Why, really, Dick, I don't remember. I—oh yes—I wanted to get them out of the bag so we could take it down. I didn't think of doing anything special with them. But they can't stay here this way. The men may begin to paint here in the morning. I suppose"—tentatively—"they really ought to be in the dining-room."
Mr. Tarrant, decidedly: "Then let them go in there by themselves. Really, Elizabeth, I should think—"
Mrs. Tarrant, hastily: "I know—I ought to have thought. But"—meekly—"I didn't."
Mr. Tarrant, appeased: "Oh, well, we'll take a tray and have 'em in in a jiffy."
Mrs. Tarrant, deprecatingly: "There isn't any tray, dear."
Mr. Tarrant, ironically: "Then one by one?"
Mrs. Tarrant: "No, indeed, Dick; of course not."
Mr. Tarrant: "I'll tell you, Bess, we'll back the table in, just as it is. Why not?"
Mrs. Tarrant, fearfully: "Oh, we couldn't—I wouldn't dare!"
Mr. Tarrant: "Nonsense! Here, now, I'll back in, and you come on slowly. Tell me when to stop. Ready, now!"
They seize the table by opposite ends and move slowly and painfully toward the door to the hall, Mrs. Tarrant's face a picture of horror. At every third step she emits a stifled scream, while her husband inquires nervously: "Is that the sill?" At length they land it safely in the hall, through which their progress is ascertained by various bumps, gasps, and squeals, growing fainter as they get farther away.
Lena, entering with hat and umbrella: "If I am to get the milk before it rain, I must soon go. It is very dark."
As she steps into the hall, the bell rings. She opens the door cautiously, one hand on the chain. The head and shoulders of a man appear in the opening. He remarks: "'Lectrician. Come to fix your lights."
Lena, firmly: "No, you cannot come in. It is all right. We keep them."
The Electrician: "Well, I ain't going to steal 'em, am I? Somp'n's matter with your circuit—they'll all be out in half an hour. I'll fix you up for to-night and come in in the mornin'."
Lena, impassively: "No. Mr. Tarrant will speak about it. It is all right."
The Electrician, angrily: "All right nothing. I tell you it's wrong all over the house. I been in every flat but this. You can't use the gas, either, till eight o'clock; plumber's in the cellar. Lemme in, will you?"
Lena, placidly: "No. It is all right. You cannot take them."
The Electrician, with rising wrath: "Who wants to take 'em? I ain't goin' to hurt your light—I'm goin' to fix it for yer, yer crazy Swede! Can I get in?"
Lena, patiently: "No. Go away. It is all right."
The Electrician, exploding: "All right, then, stay in the dark, if you want ter! It don't hurt me. You need a keeper, you do."
He turns away, and Lena closes the door triumphantly. After waiting a moment with her ear to the crack, she goes out.
Mr. and Mrs. Tarrant enter the library, talking. Mrs. Tarrant, meditatively: "I suppose they really ought to have gone in the sideboard."
Mr. Tarrant, firmly: "Elizabeth, nothing on earth would induce me to touch those glasses again. So don't let's discuss it. The boss may grind them to powder, but I shall never disturb them."
