“And I can sweep and polish and dust—of course, a parlor maid learns that. And we could whistle duets of evenings.”
“The old man said he’d raise me to twenty at Christmas if Bryan couldn’t think of any harder name to call a Republican than a ‘postponer,’” said the grocer’s young man.
“I can sew,” said Celia; “and I know that you must make the gas company’s man show his badge when he comes to look at the meter; and I know how to put up quince jam and window curtains.”
“Bully! you’re all right, Cele. Yes, I believe we can pull it off on eighteen.”
As he was jumping into the wagon the second parlor maid braved discovery by running swiftly to the gate.
“And, oh, Tommy, I forgot,” she called, softly, “I believe I could make your neckties.”
“Forget it,” said Thomas decisively.
“And another thing,” she continued. “Sliced cucumbers at night will drive away cockroaches.”
“And sleep, too, you bet,” said Mr. McLeod. “Yes, I believe if I have a delivery to make on the West Side this afternoon I’ll look in at a furniture store I know over there.”
It was just as the wagon dashed away that old Jacob Spraggins struck the sideboard with his fist and made the mysterious remark about ten thousand dollars that you perhaps remember. Which justifies the reflection
