"Your father!" she said, over and over. "What can we say to your
father?"
"And that is all you will say?" demanded Miss Patty scornfully. "'You
don't know;' 'there's a mistake;' 'you never saw the letter before!' Oh,
if I were only a man!"
"I'll tell you what we'll do," Mr. Pierce said, with something like
hope in his voice. "We'll send for Mr. Van Alstyne! That's the thing, of
course. I'll send for--er--Jim."
Mr. Van Alstyne's name is Sam, but nobody noticed.
"Mr. Van Alstyne!" repeated Miss Patty in a dazed way.
I guessed it was about time to make a diversion, so I knocked and walked
in with the tray, and they all glared at me. Mrs. Hutchins was collapsed
in a chair, holding a wet handkerchief to her eyes, and one side of
her cap was loose and hanging down. Miss Patty was standing by a table,
white and angry, and Mr. Pierce was about a yard from her, with the
letter in his hands. But he was looking at her.
"I've brought your supper, Mr. Carter," I began. Then I stopped and
stared at Miss Patty and Mrs. Hutchins. "Oh," I said.
"Thank you," said Mr. Pierce, very uncomfortable. "Just put it down
anywhere."
I stalked across the room and put it on the table. Then I turned and
looked at Mrs. Hutchins.
"I'm sorry," I said, "but it's one of the rules of this house that
guests don't come to these rooms. They're strictly private. It isn't MY
rule, ladies, but if you will step down to the parlor--"
Mrs. Hutchins' face turned purple.
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