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Updated: June 1, 2025
He was indulging in the unusual luxury of loitering at the table after the meal was finished, a habit seldom tolerated in the Queerington household. "But there isn't time," insisted Hattie. "Connie is having a party to- night." "A party?" The Doctor's brows lifted. "Yes," broke in Connie. "Miss Lady said she didn't think you'd mind, and she persuaded Myrtella to let us dance in here.
Queerington. "He likes to see where he is going, don't you, Chick? Here goes our automobile! Honk! Honk!" The nurse wheeled him through the tall, gloomy halls, while Myrtella shambled at one side, clinging to his hand, and wiping her eyes. Miss Lady flitted along on the other, telling him about the new football that was going to be on his bed when he woke up.
It's time for you to be going on home anyhow. First thing I know I'll be getting complained at for having you hanging around so much. And look at your hands, Bertie Queerington! You are going to get put in the bath-tub right off, that's what you are going to get!" "I'll bathe him," said Miss Lady eagerly. "No," said Myrtella firmly, "there can't nobody but me manage him."
The only place where he found temporary peace was under the roof of the grim-looking house in College Street. From the first Doctor Queerington had championed his cause, and urged upon him his hospitality. To be sure the Doctor's hospitality usually began and ended with his welcome, after which he would take himself off to the study, and leave his guest to the care of the family.
"Who's who?" "That radiant young thing in green. She doesn't belong in a ballroom, she belongs in a forest with ivy leaves in her hair. By Jove, look at the lines of her, and the freedom of her movements. I haven't seen such arms in years!" Cropsie followed his glance: "Oh, that's the new Mrs. Queerington, the wife of John Jay, you know."
Queerington that I'll send the motor for her at five; and do see that she is properly hooked up." Myrtella succeeded in getting herself and the box silently out of the room, but the butler passing her on the back stairs was startled by a verbal shower that was not in the least intended for him.
"Is Number Seventeen prepared for the operation?" he heard some one ask, and at the same moment Aunt 'Tella's fingers closed on his like a vise. Then the big doctor, who had brought him there, appeared at the foot of his bed. "Ah, Mrs. Queerington!" he was saying, "the very sight of you ought to hearten up these youngsters. But you are still paler than I like to see you. Been overdoing again?"
I told her expressly that Friday was her day, I even telephoned to remind her, and here it is four o'clock, and people beginning to come, and she off playing tennis!" They were waiting in the twilight of the Queerington parlor, that plain, stiff, old maid of a parlor that had sprung completely furnished from the brain of a decorator some two decades before and never blinked an eyelid since.
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