Chapter 2

_Mrs. Curwen_: “A diplomat, as well as a punster already! I must warn Miss Lawton.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, interposing to spare the young people: “What an amusing thing elevator etiquette is! Why should the gentlemen take their hats off? Why don’t you take your hats off in a horse-car?”

_Miller_: “The theory is that the elevator is a room.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “We were at a hotel in London where they called it the Ascending Room.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Oh, how amusing!”

_Miller_, looking about: “This is a regular drawing-room for size and luxury. They’re usually such cribs in these hotels.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Yes, it’s very nice, though I say it that shouldn’t of my niece’s elevator. The worst about it is, it’s so slow.”

_Miller_: “Let’s hope it’s sure.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “Some of these elevators in America go up like express trains.”

_Mrs. Curwen_, drawing her shawl about her shoulders, as if to be ready to step out: “Well, I never get into one without taking my life in my hand, and my heart in my mouth. I suppose every one really expects an elevator to drop with them, some day, just as everybody really expects to see a ghost some time.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Oh, my dear! what an extremely disagreeable subject of conversation.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “I can’t help it, Mrs. Crashaw. When I reflect that there are two thousand elevators in Boston, and that the inspectors have just pronounced a hundred and seventy of them unsafe, I’m so desperate when I get into one that I could—flirt!”

_Miller_, guarding himself with the fan: “Not with me?”

_Miss Lawton_, to young _Mr. Bemis_: “How it _does_ creep!”

_Young Mr. Bemis_, looking down fondly at her: “Oh, does it?”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Why, it doesn’t go at all! It’s stopped. Let us get out.” They all rise.

_The Elevator Boy_, pulling at the rope: “We’re not there, yet.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, with mingled trepidation and severity: “Not there? What are you stopping, then, for?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “I don’t know. It seems to be caught.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Caught?”

_Miss Lawton_: “Oh, dear!”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “Don’t mind.”

_Miller_: “Caught? Nonsense!”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “_We’re_ caught, I should say.” She sinks back on the seat.

_The Elevator Boy_: “Seemed to be going kind of funny all day!” He keeps tugging at the rope.

_Miller_, arresting the boy’s efforts: “Well, hold on—stop! What are you doing?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “Trying to make it go.”

_Miller_: “Well, don’t be so—violent about it. You might break something.”

_The Elevator Boy_: “Break a wire rope like that!”

_Miller_: “Well, well, be quiet now. Ladies, I think you’d better sit down—and as gently as possible. I wouldn’t move about much.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Move! We’re stone. And I wish for my part I were a feather.”

_Miller_, to the boy: “Er—a—er—where do you suppose we are?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “We’re in the shaft between the fourth and fifth floors.” He attempts a fresh demonstration on the rope, but is prevented.

_Miller_: “Hold on! Er—er”—

_Mrs. Crashaw_, as if the boy had to be communicated with through an interpreter: “Ask him if it’s ever happened before.”

_Miller_: “Yes. Were you ever caught before?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “No.”

_Miller_: “He says no.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Ask him if the elevator has a safety device.”

_Miller_: “Has it got a safety device?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “How should I know?”

_Miller_: “He says he don’t know.”

_Mrs. Curwen_, in a shriek of hysterical laughter: “Why, he understands English!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, sternly ignoring the insinuation: “Ask him if there’s any means of calling the janitor.”

_Miller_: “Could you call the janitor?”

_The Elevator Boy_, ironically: “Well, there ain’t any telephone attachment.”

_Miller_, solemnly: “No, he says there isn’t.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, sinking back on the seat with resignation: “Well, I don’t know what my niece will say.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Poor papa!”

_Young Mr. Bemis_, gathering one of her wandering hands into his: “Don’t be frightened. I’m sure there’s no danger.”

_The Elevator Boy_, indignantly: “Why, she can’t drop. The cogs in the runs won’t let her!”

_All_: “Oh!”

_Miller_, with a sigh of relief: “I knew there must be something of the kind. Well, I wish my wife had her fan.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “And if I had my left glove I should be perfectly happy. Not that I know what the cogs in the runs are!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Then we’re merely caught here?”

_Miller_: “That’s all.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “It’s quite enough for the purpose. Couldn’t you put on a life-preserver, Mr. Miller, and go ashore and get help from the natives?”

_Miss Lawton_, putting her handkerchief to her eyes: “Oh, dear!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, putting her arm around her: “Don’t be frightened, my child. There’s no danger.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_, caressing the hand which he holds: “Don’t be frightened.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Don’t leave me.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “No, no; I won’t. Keep fast hold of my hand.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Oh, yes, I will! I’m ashamed to cry.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_, fervently: “Oh, you needn’t be! It is perfectly natural you should.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “I’m too badly scared for tears. Mr. Miller, you seem to be in charge of this expedition—couldn’t you do something? Throw out ballast, or let the boy down in a parachute? Or I’ve read of a shipwreck where the survivors, in an open boat, joined in a cry, and attracted the notice of a vessel that was going to pass them. We might join in a cry.”

_Miller_: “Oh, it’s all very well joking, Mrs. Curwen”—

_Mrs. Curwen_: “You call it joking!”

_Miller_: “But it’s not so amusing, being cooped up here indefinitely. I don’t know how we’re to get out. We can’t join in a cry, and rouse the whole house. It would be ridiculous.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “And our present attitude is so eminently dignified! Well, I suppose we shall have to cast lots pretty soon to see which of us shall be sacrificed to nourish the survivors. It’s long past dinner-time.”

_Miss Lawton_, breaking down: “Oh, _don’t_ say such terrible things.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_, indignantly comforting her: “Don’t, don’t cry. There’s no danger. It’s perfectly safe.”

_Miller_ to _The Elevator Boy_: “Couldn’t you climb up the cable, and get on to the landing, and—ah!—get somebody?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “I could, maybe, if there was a hole in the roof.”

_Miller_, glancing up: “Ah! true.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, with an old lady’s serious kindness: “My boy, can’t you think of anything to do for us?”

_The Elevator Boy_ yielding to the touch of humanity, and bursting into tears: “No, ma’am, I can’t. And everybody’s blamin’ me, as if I done it. What’s my poor mother goin’ to do?”

_Mrs. Crashaw_, soothingly: “But you said the runs in the cogs”—

_The Elevator Boy_: “How can I tell! That’s what they say. They hain’t never been tried.”

_Mrs. Curwen_, springing to her feet: “There! I knew I should. Oh”—She sinks fainting to the floor.

_Mrs. Crashaw_, abandoning Miss Lawton to the ministrations of young Mr. Bemis, while she kneels beside Mrs. Curwen and chafes her hand: “Oh, poor thing! I knew she was overwrought by the way she was keeping up. Give her air, Mr. Miller. Open a—Oh, there isn’t any window!”

_Miller_, dropping on his knees, and fanning Mrs. Curwen: “There! there! Wake up, Mrs. Curwen. I didn’t mean to scold you for joking. I didn’t, indeed. I—I—I don’t know what the deuce I’m up to.” He gathers Mrs. Curwen’s inanimate form in his arms, and fans her face where it lies on his shoulder. “I don’t know what my wife would say if”—

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “She would say that you were doing your duty.”

_Miller_, a little consoled: “Oh, do you think so? Well, perhaps.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “Do you feel faint at all, Miss Lawton?”

_Miss Lawton_: “No, I think not. No, not if you say it’s safe.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “Oh, I’m sure it is!”

_Miss Lawton_, renewing her hold upon his hand: “Well, then! Perhaps I hurt you?”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “No, no! You couldn’t.”

_Miss Lawton_: “How kind you are!”

_Mrs. Curwen_, opening her eyes: “Where”—

_Miller_, rapidly transferring her to Mrs. Crashaw: “Still in the elevator, Mrs. Curwen.” Rising to his feet: “Something must be done. Perhaps we _had_ better unite in a cry. It’s ridiculous, of course. But it’s the only thing we can do. Now, then! Hello!”

_Miss Lawton_: “Papa!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Agne-e-e-s!”

_Mrs. Curwen_, faintly: “Walter!”

_The Elevator Boy_: “Say!”

_Miller_: “Oh, that won’t do. All join in ‘Hello!’”

_All_: “Hello!”

_Miller_: “Once more!”

_All_: “Hello!”

_Miller_: “_Once_ more!”

_All_: “Hello!”

_Miller_: “Now wait a while.” After an interval: “No, nobody coming.” He takes out his watch. “We must repeat this cry at intervals of a half-minute. Now, then!” They all join in the cry, repeating it as _Mr. Miller_ makes the signal with his lifted hand.

_Miss Lawton_: “Oh, it’s no use!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “They don’t hear.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “They _won’t_ hear.”

_Miller_: “Now, then, three times!”

_All_: “Hello! hello! hello!”

III.

_Roberts_ appears at the outer door of his apartment on the fifth floor. It opens upon a spacious landing, to which a wide staircase ascends at one side. At the other is seen the grated door to the shaft of the elevator. He peers about on all sides, and listens for a moment before he speaks.

_Roberts_: “Hello yourself.”

_Miller_, invisibly from the shaft: “Is that you, Roberts?”

_Roberts_: “Yes; where in the world are you?”

_Miller_: “In the elevator.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “We’re _all_ here, Edward.”

_Roberts_: “What! You, Aunt Mary!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Yes. Didn’t I say so?”

_Roberts_: “Why don’t you come up?”

_Miller_: “We can’t. The elevator has got stuck somehow.”

_Roberts_: “Got stuck? Bless my soul! How did it happen? How long have you been there?”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Since the world began!”

_Miller_: “What’s the use asking how it happened? We don’t know, and we don’t care. What we want to do is to get out.”

_Roberts_: “Yes, yes! Be careful!” He rises from his frog-like posture at the grating, and walks the landing in agitation. “Just hold on a minute!”

_Miller_: “Oh, _we_ sha’n’t stir.”

_Roberts_: “I’ll see what can be done.”

_Miller_: “Well, see quick, please. We have plenty of time, but we don’t want to lose any. Don’t alarm Mrs. Miller, if you can help it.”

_Roberts_: “No, no.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “You _may_ alarm Mr. Curwen.”

_Roberts_: “What! Are _you_ there?”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Here? I’ve been here all my life!”

_Roberts_: “Ha! ha! ha! That’s right. We’ll soon have you out. Keep up your spirits.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “But I’m _not_ keeping them up.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Tell papa I’m here too.”

_Roberts_: “What! You too, Miss Lawton?”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Yes, and young Mr. Bemis. Didn’t I _tell_ you we were all here?”

_Roberts_: “I couldn’t realize it. Well, wait a moment.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Oh, you can trust us to wait.”

_Roberts_, returning with _Dr. Lawton_, and _Mr. Bemis_, who join him in stooping around the grated door of the shaft: “They’re just under here in the well of the elevator, midway between the two stories.”

_Lawton_: “Ha! ha! ha! You don’t say so.”

_Bemis_: “Bless my heart! What are they doing there?”

_Miller_: “We’re not doing anything.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “We’re waiting for you to do something.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Oh, papa!”

_Lawton_: “Don’t be troubled, Lou, we’ll soon have you out.”

_Young Mr. Bemis_: “Don’t be alarmed, sir, Miss Lawton is all right.”

_Miss Lawton_: “Yes, I’m not frightened, papa.”

_Lawton_: “Well, that’s a great thing in cases of this kind. How did you happen to get there?”

_Miller_, indignantly: “How do you suppose? We came up in the elevator.”

_Lawton_: “Well, why didn’t you come the rest of the way?”

_Miller_: “The elevator wouldn’t.”

_Lawton_: “What seems to be the matter?”

_Miller_: “We don’t know.”

_Lawton_: “Have you tried to start it?”

_Miller_: “Well, I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

_Lawton_: “Well, be careful what you do. You might”—

_Miller_, interrupting: “Roberts, who’s that talking?”

_Roberts_, coming forward politely: “Oh, excuse me! I forgot that you didn’t know each other. Dr. Lawton, Mr. Miller.” Introducing them.

_Lawton_: “Glad to know you.”

_Miller_: “Very happy to make your acquaintance, and hope some day to see you. And now, if you have completed your diagnosis”—

_Mrs. Curwen_: “None of us have ever had it before, doctor; nor any of our families, so far as we know.”

_Lawton_: “Ha! ha! ha! Very good! Well, just keep quiet. We’ll have you all out of there presently.”

_Bemis_: “Yes, remain perfectly still.”

_Roberts_: “Yes, we’ll have you out. Just wait.”

_Miller_: “You seem to think we’re going to run away. Why shouldn’t we keep quiet? Do you suppose we’re going to be very boisterous, shut up here like rats in a trap?”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Or birds in a cage, if you want a more pleasing image.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “How are you going to get us out, Edward?”

_Roberts_: “We don’t know yet. But keep quiet”—

_Miller_: “Keep quiet! Great heavens! we’re afraid to stir a finger. Now don’t say ‘keep quiet’ any more, for we can’t stand it.”

_Lawton_: “He’s in open rebellion. What are you going to do, Roberts?”

_Roberts_, rising and scratching his head: “Well, I don’t know yet. We might break a hole in the roof.”

_Lawton_: “Ah, I don’t think that would do. Besides you’d have to get a carpenter.”

_Roberts_: “That’s true. And it would make a racket, and alarm the house”—staring desperately at the grated doorway of the shaft. “If I could only find an elevator man—an elevator builder! But of course they all live in the suburbs, and they’re keeping Christmas, and it would take too long, anyway.”

_Bemis_: “Hadn’t you better send for the police? It seems to me it’s a case for the authorities.”

_Lawton_: “Ah, there speaks the Europeanized mind! They always leave the initiative to the authorities. Go out and sound the fire-alarm, Roberts. It’s a case for the Fire Department.”

_Roberts_: “Oh, it’s all very well to joke, Dr. Lawton. Why don’t you prescribe something?”

_Lawton_: “Surgical treatment seems to be indicated, and I’m merely a general practitioner.”

_Roberts_: “If Willis were only here, he’d find some way out of it. Well, I’ll have to go for help somewhere”—

_Mrs. Roberts_ and _Mrs. Miller_, bursting upon the scene: “Oh, what is it?”

_Lawton_: “Ah, you needn’t go for help, my dear fellow. It’s come!”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “What are you all doing here, Edward?”

_Mrs. Miller_: “Oh, have you had any bad news of Mr. Miller?”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Or Aunt Mary?”

_Miller_, calling up: “Well, are you going to keep us here all night? Why don’t you do something?”

_Mrs. Miller_: “Oh, what’s that? Oh, it’s Mr. Miller! Oh, where are you, Ellery?”

_Miller_: “In the elevator.”

_Mrs. Miller_: “Oh! and where is the elevator? Why don’t you get out? Oh”—

_Miller_: “It’s caught, and we can’t.”

_Mrs. Miller_: “Caught? Oh, then you will be killed—killed—killed! And it’s all my fault, sending you back after my fan, and I had it all the time in my own pocket; and it comes from my habit of giving it to you to carry in your overcoat pocket, because it’s deep, and the fan can’t break. And of course I never thought of my own pocket, and I never _should_ have thought of it at all if Mr. Curwen hadn’t been going back to get Mrs. Curwen’s glove, for he’d brought another right after she’d sent him for a left, and we were all having such a laugh about it, and I just happened to put my hand on my pocket, and there I felt the fan. And oh, _what_ shall I do?” Mrs. Miller utters these explanations and self-reproaches in a lamentable voice, while crouching close to the grated door to the elevator shaft, and clinging to its meshes.

_Miller_: “Well, well, it’s all right. I’ve got you another fan, here. Don’t be frightened.”

_Mrs. Roberts_, wildly: “Where’s Aunt Mary, Edward? Has Willis got back?” At a guilty look from her husband: “Edward! _don’t_ tell me that _she’s_ in that elevator! Don’t do it, Edward! For your own sake don’t. Don’t tell me that your own child’s mother’s aunt is down there, suspended between heaven and earth like—like”—

_Lawton_: “The coffin of the Prophet.”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Yes. _Don’t_ tell me, Edward! Spare your child’s mother, if you won’t spare your wife!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Agnes! don’t be ridiculous. I’m here, and I never was more comfortable in my life.”

_Mrs. Roberts_, calling down the grating “Oh! Is it you, Aunt Mary?”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Of course it is!”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “You recognize my voice?”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “I should hope so, indeed! Why shouldn’t I?”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “And you know me? Agnes? Oh!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Don’t be a goose, Agnes.”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Oh, it _is_ you, aunty. It _is_! Oh, I’m _so_ glad! I’m _so_ happy! But keep perfectly still, aunty dear, and we’ll soon have you out. Think of baby, and don’t give way.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “I shall not, if the elevator doesn’t, you may depend upon that.”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Oh, what courage you _do_ have! But keep up your spirits! Mrs. Miller and I have just come from seeing baby. She’s gone to sleep with all her little presents in her arms. The children did want to see you so much before they went to bed. But never mind that now, Aunt Mary. I’m only too thankful to have you at all!”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “I wish you did have me! And if you will all stop talking and try some of you to do something, I shall be greatly obliged to you. It’s worse than it was in the sleeping car that night.”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Oh, do you remember it, Aunt Mary? Oh, how funny you are!” Turning heroically to her husband: “Now, Edward, dear, get them out. If it’s necessary, get them out over my dead body. Anything! Only hurry. I will be calm; I will be patient. But you must act instantly. Oh, here comes Mr. Curwen!” _Mr. Curwen_ mounts the stairs to the landing with every sign of exhaustion, as if he had made a very quick run to and from his house. “Oh, _he_ will help—I know he will! Oh, Mr. Curwen, the elevator is caught just below here with my aunt in it and Mrs. Miller’s husband”—

_Lawton_: “And my girl.”

_Bemis_: “And my boy.”

_Mrs. Curwen_, calling up: “And your wife!”

_Curwen_, horror-struck: “And my wife! Oh, heavenly powers! what are we going to do? How shall we get them out? Why don’t they come up?”

_All_: “They can’t.”

_Curwen_: “Can’t? Oh, my goodness!” He flies at the grating, and kicks and beats it.

_Roberts_: “Hold on! What’s the use of that?”

_Lawton_: “You couldn’t get at them if you beat the door down.”

_Bemis_: “Certainly not.” They lay hands upon him and restrain him.

_Curwen_, struggling: “Let me speak to my wife! Will you prevent a husband from speaking to his own wife?”

_Mrs. Miller_, in blind admiration of his frenzy: “Yes, that’s just what I said. If some one had beaten the door in at once”—

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Oh, Edward, dear, let him speak to his wife.” Tearfully: “Think if _I_ were there!”

_Roberts_, releasing him: “He may speak to his wife all night. But he mustn’t knock the house down.”

_Curwen_, rushing at the grating: “Caroline! Can you hear me? Are you safe?”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Perfectly. I had a little faint when we first stuck”—

_Curwen_: “Faint? Oh!”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “But I am all right now.”

_Curwen_: “Well, that’s right. Don’t be frightened! There’s no occasion for excitement. Keep perfectly calm and collected. It’s the only way—What’s that ringing?” The sound of an electric bell is heard within the elevator. It increases in fury.

_Mrs. Roberts_ and _Mrs. Miller_: “Oh, isn’t it dreadful?”

_The Elevator Boy_: “It’s somebody on the ground-floor callin’ the elevator!”

_Curwen_: “Well, never mind him. Don’t pay the slightest attention to him. Let him go to the deuce! And, Caroline!”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Yes?”

_Curwen_: “I—I—I’ve got your glove all right.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Left, you mean, I hope?”

_Curwen_: “Yes, left, dearest! I _mean_ left.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Eight-button?”

_Curwen_: “Yes.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “Light drab?”

_Curwen_, pulling a light yellow glove from his pocket: “Oh!” He staggers away from the grating and stays himself against the wall, the mistaken glove dangling limply from his hand.

_Roberts_, _Lawton_, and _Bemis_: “Ah! ha! ha! ha!”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Oh, for shame! to laugh at such a time!”

_Mrs. Miller_: “When it’s a question of life and death. There! The ringing’s stopped. What’s that?” Steps are heard mounting the stairway rapidly, several treads at a time. Mr. Campbell suddenly bursts into the group on the landing with a final bound from the stairway. “Oh!”

_Campbell_: “I can’t find Aunt Mary, Agnes. I can’t find anything—not even the elevator. Where’s the elevator? I rang for it down there till I was black in the face.”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “No wonder! It’s here.”

_Mrs. Miller_: “Between this floor and the floor below. With my husband in it.”

_Curwen_: “And my wife!”

_Lawton_: “And my daughter!”

_Bemis_: “And my son!”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “And aunty!”

_All_: “And it’s stuck fast.”

_Roberts_: “And the long and short of it is, Willis, that we don’t know how to get them out, and we wish you would suggest some way.”

_Lawton_: “There’s been a great tacit confidence among us in your executive ability and your inventive genius.”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Oh, yes, we know you can do it.”

_Mrs. Miller_: “If you can’t, nothing can save them.”

_Campbell_, going to the grating: “Miller!”

_Miller_: “Well?”

_Campbell_: “Start her up!”

_Miller_: “Now, look here, Campbell, we are not going to stand that; we’ve had enough of it. I speak for the whole elevator. Don’t you suppose that if it had been possible to start her up we”—

_Mrs. Curwen_: “We shouldn’t have been at the moon by this time.”

_Campbell_: “Well, then, start her _down_!”

_Miller_: “I never thought of that.” To the _Elevator Boy_: “Start her down.” To the people on the landing above: “Hurrah! She’s off!”

_Campbell_: “Well, _now_ start her up!”

A joint cry from the elevator: “Thank you! we’ll walk up this time.”

_Miller_: “Here! let us out at this landing!” They are heard precipitately emerging, with sighs and groans of relief, on the floor below.

_Mrs. Roberts_, devoutly: “O Willis, it seems like an interposition of Providence, your coming just at this moment.”

_Campbell_: “Interposition of common sense! These hydraulic elevators weaken sometimes, and can’t go any farther.”

_Roberts_, to the shipwrecked guests, who arrive at the top of the stairs, crestfallen, spent, and clinging to one another for support: “Why didn’t you think of starting her down, some of you?”

_Mrs. Roberts_, welcoming them with kisses and hand-shakes: “I should have thought it would occur to you at once.”

_Miller_, goaded to exasperation: “Did it occur to any of _you_?”

_Lawton_, with sublime impudence: “It occurred to _all_ of us. But we naturally supposed you had tried it.”

_Mrs. Miller_, taking possession of her husband: “Oh, what a fright you have given us!”

_Miller_: “_I_ given you! Do you suppose I did it out of a joke, or voluntarily?”

_Mrs. Roberts_: “Aunty, I don’t know what to say to you. _You_ ought to have been here long ago, before anything happened.”

_Mrs. Crashaw_: “Oh, I can explain everything in due season. What I wish you to do now is to let me get at Willis, and kiss him.” As _Campbell_ submits to her embrace: “You dear, good fellow! If it hadn’t been for your presence of mind, I don’t know how we should ever have got out of that horrid pen.”

_Mrs. Curwen_, giving him her hand: “As it isn’t proper for _me_ to kiss you”—

_Campbell_: “Well, I don’t know. I don’t wish to be _too_ modest.”

_Mrs. Curwen_: “I think I shall have to vote you a service of plate.”