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Updated: June 20, 2025
Come on; you'll find out if you like the place." "By jiminy, I will!" Mr. Wrenn slapped the table, socially. At last he was "through, just through with loafing around and not getting acquainted," he told himself. He was tired of Zapps. There was nothing to Zapps. He would go up to Mrs. Arty's and now he was going to find Morton.
While you've been away from Mrs. Arty's Lord, I've missed you so! Anyway, I got onto myself tonight. I s'pose it's partly because I been thinking you didn't care much for my friends." "But, Mouse dear, all this isn't news to me. Surely you, who've gipsied with me, aren't going to be so obvious, so banal, as to blame me because you've cared for me, are you, child?" "Oh no, no, no!
It was the first time he had even peeped into her room in New York. The old shyness was on him, and he glanced back. Nelly was just coming up-stairs, staring at him where he stood inside the door, her lips apart with amazement. Ladies distinctly did not entertain in their rooms at Mrs. Arty's.
It was a terrible day for Arthur when the baby's head of hair began to come off, till Aggie told him it always did that, and it would grow again. To-day they were celebrating the first birthday of the little son. At supper that night a solemn thought came to Aggie. "Oh, Arthur, only think. "Never mind; Arty's little sister will be having her first birthday very soon after."
"To-morrow," she smiled, with a hint of tears, "I'll be a reg'lar lady, I guess, and make you explain and explain like everything, but now I'm just glad. Yes," defiantly, "I will admit it if I want to! I am glad!" Her door closed. Upon an evening of November, 1911, it chanced that of Mrs. Arty's flock only Nelly and Mr. Wrenn were at home.
I turned my face a little aside, so that Edward might not see all the anxiety that was pictured there. "You look very sober, Mr. Mayflower," said my good wife, gazing at me with eyes a little shaded by concern, as I sat with Arty's head leaning against my bosom that evening; "as sober as baby looked this morning, after his fruitless shadow chase."
Wrenn's voice quavered, with an attempt at dignity: "I'm awful sorry she butted in while you fellows was here. I don't know how to apologize" "Forget it, old man," rolled out Tom's bass. "Come on, let's go up to Mrs. Arty's." "But, gee! it's nearly a quarter to eleven." "That's all right. We can get up there by a little after, and Mrs. Arty stays up playing cards till after twelve." "Golly!" Mr.
Now let's go down by the fire, where it's comfy." On a couch of glossy red leather with glossy black buttons and stiff fringes also of glossy red leather, Mr. William Wrenn sat upright and was very confiding to Miss Nelly Croubel, who was curled among the satin pillows with her skirts drawn carefully about her ankles. He had been at Mrs. Arty's for two weeks now.
Wrenn, but she called him neither Billy nor anything else, and mostly she talked to Miss Proudfoot, smiling at him, but saying nothing when he managed to get out a jest about Mrs. Arty's chewing-gum. Wrenn started to explain how he had come to enter Istra's room. "Why shouldn't you?" Nelly asked, curtly, and turned to Miss Proudfoot.
Wrenn agitatedly ejaculated under his breath, as they noisily entered Mrs. Arty's though not noisily on his part. The parlor door was open. Mrs. Arty's broad back was toward them, and she was announcing to James T. Duncan and Miss Proudfoot, with whom she was playing three-handed Five Hundred, "Well, I'll just bid seven on hearts if you're going to get so set up."
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