When he reached the door he knocked imperiously, and after a second,
rapped again. Mrs. Carter was busy in the kitchen. She resented the
hastiness of the summons. Under no circumstances would she let herself
be seen in the role of kitchen girl. She clung to appearances with a
tenacity that nothing could shake. Long practice in this sort of thing,
however, had made her very expert; and by the time Mr. Hand had
thundered at the knocker four or five times, his wrath getting hotter
as his damp clothes got more chilly, Mrs. Carter had made herself
presentable and was ready to open the door.
Severe and stately in her widow's garments, cool of countenance as if
she had been but sitting in expectancy of callers, she opened the door
and confronted Mr. Hand. Recognizing her unwelcome visitor, she drew
herself up to her full height, and the little, dripping old man looked
the more grotesque and mean by contrast.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hand," she began in tones of ice; "can I do
anything"--but at this point she took in the full absurdity of his
appearance. With all her stateliness she had a keen appreciation
of the ridiculous, and it was from her that Ted derived his excess
of humor and his love of mischief. Passionately as she scorned Mr. Hand,
she could forget herself so far as to let him amuse her. Her large face
melted into a smile. She struggled to keep from open laughter.
"Look at me, just look at me, at my condition!" burst forth Mr. Hand
"This is some of the work of your two brats of boys, madam.
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