Some style about them, eh?"
Mrs. Tuckley tossed her head and sniffed contemptuously, Mrs. Luke began
to rehearse a time worn tale, how once a carriage had driven up to the
Hart house at nine o'clock at night, and a distinguished looking man
alighted, went in, stayed about ten minutes and finally drove off with a
great clatter. Heads that had shaken ominously over this story before
began to shake again, and tongues that had wagged themselves tired with
conjectures started now with some brand new ideas and theories. The
children of the square, tired of fishing for minnows in the ditches, and
making mud-pies in the street, clustered about their mother's skirts
receiving occasional slaps, when their attempts at taking part in the
conversation became too pronounced.
Meanwhile, in the Hart household, all was bustle and preparation. To and
fro the members of the house flitted, arranging chairs, putting little
touches here and there, washing saucers and glasses, chasing the Hart
Juniors about, losing things and calling frantically for each other's
assistance to find them. Mama Hart, big, plump and perspiring, puffed
here and there like a large, rosy engine, giving impossible orders, and
receiving sharp answers to foolish questions.
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