True to his determination to let no wish of Mary Louise’s go unfulfilled, Danny Dexter rigged up an elevator to the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop, so that Irene MacFarlane could go there at any time without waiting for Bob Dulaney or Danny to carry her upstairs. In days gone by there had been a dumb-waiter in the back of the old building but it had long since been abandoned because of its rusty pulleys and broken cords. This dumb-waiter shaft had been used by the shifting tenants as a receptacle for all kinds of debris. In cleaning it out before he could find room to rig up the little elevator, Danny declared there was nothing he didn’t find from broken baby carriages to old sets of false teeth. The only drawback to the elevator was that one must enter by way of the alley, but Irene insisted that made no difference whatsoever. Sometimes she came to the shop, which was not far from her home, propelling herself in her133 wheelchair. She would roll up the alley, which was fortunately paved and not too rough, right into the little elevator that was the exact dimensions of her chair. Then with a vigorous pull on the rope with her strong and capable hands, she would shoot to the second floor and roll out into the Higgledy-Piggledy Shop.
Her coming was always greeted with exclamations of delight by the proprietors of the shop. Clever Danny had so well rigged the little elevator that the usual groaning and squeaking of a misnamed dumb-waiter had been done away with. Her coming would be unheralded by bell or knock and she would glide from the shaft like a veritable fairy princess, so Elizabeth declared.
Irene’s part in the shop had become a very important one, so important that Josie and Elizabeth felt they could hardly do without her. The lame girl’s skill with the needle was in great demand, as one of the chief industries of the unique shop was fine mending, which was not the long suit of either Josie or Elizabeth. One of their principles in running their business, however, was that they must undertake everything that came their way and then, if134 they could not do it themselves, as Josie put it, they would “farm it out.”
“My, I’m glad to see you!” exclaimed Josie as Irene came gliding from the elevator into their midst. “A lot of lace to be mended and laundered has just arrived. Exquisite stuff and a hurry call. Can you spend the day and work on it for us? There will be at least three dollars in it for you.”
“Of course I can, if you will telephone Auntie,” and Irene drew from her bag her thimble and needle case and soon was at work mending the exquisite point lace that had been left at the shop only that morning by a wealthy and particular old lady. At times, where the work was very delicate, Irene made use of a magnifying glass, which was as much a part of her little sewing kit as her thimble and the very fine needles she delighted in, and the sharp scissors, no longer than her little finger, and the assortment of cotton and silk threads.
“I am going to launder the lace that does not need mending,” said Josie, getting out a diminutive tub, placing ready an ironing board and attaching her electric iron.
“And I’ll go on with my typing,” said Elizabeth.135 “It is manuscript from a would-be authoress who is all dashes and an occasional period when her pen seemed to be out of breath. I think I should charge extra for punctuation, don’t you, Irene?”
“Certainly,” laughed Irene, “but how would you grade your charges?”
“I’ll give a period for nothing. It is a kind of relief to make a period after such an effusion as this: ‘His flashing eye was bent on her with a look of mingled admiration and rage while in spite of the feeling of uncontrollable fear that filled her pure heart to the brim the beautiful girl first breathing a prayer to her Heavenly Father of whose watchful care she was ever conscious no matter how severe her trials and tribulations raised her sad blue eyes and looked into the bold black ones of the insinuating villain who had by his machinations brought her to this lonesome spot where he hoped to have her in his power and as she looked into those wicked orbs that seemed to Elaine very like the lonesome miasmic tarn by which she had been led on this perilous journey she felt sure of the power of good over evil and as the realization of this great truth came to136 her the wretch dropped his eyes and turned away.’ All this without a punctuation mark of any kind, not even a dash, except at the tail end where I have thrown in a period. I should get a tenth of a cent for every comma and at least a fifth for semicolons—they come high—and as for a colon: it is worth anything one wishes to charge. I think there is nothing so elegant as colons. They have such a knowing air.”
Irene and Josie laughed heartily at Elizabeth, who went on with her typing, occasionally reading to them choice bits from the manuscript.
“Of course, this joking can only be in the bosom of our official family,” said Elizabeth. “It would never do to get out that we make fun of our patrons.”
“And so is that what you do?” was the gay question flung at them from the door. It was Hortense Markle. “I knocked, but you were laughing so gaily and the typewriter was clicking so noisily that you did not hear.” She tripped in, laying a large package on the table.
“Come in! We are very glad to see you,” said Josie cordially, but into her eyes came137 the dull fishy look she could assume at will. Elizabeth spoke hospitably to their guest, moving some pamphlets from a chair to make room for her. Irene tried to bring a smile of welcome to her calm, sweet eyes, but she felt that anyone who chose to look could easily tell it was perfunctory.
“I have brought the damask napkins that you promised to launder for me,” said Hortense, untying the cord around her package. “I have just completed the initials and am anxious to have them done up, as I am sure you can do them,” smiling and bowing prettily to Josie. “It is wonderful linen, some Felix got for me the last time he was in New York. He paid untold sums for it but he knows how fond I am of beautiful linen.” She opened up the package and displayed the napkins, which were of exquisite damask of a rare and artistic pattern.
“Why, they have been laundered once,” said Irene, looking at one of the napkins with the pleasure she always felt at the touch of fine fabrics.
“Oh, yes, I often have damask washed before I embroider it. It is so much softer and more138 sympathetic to the needle............