nnie made quick work.

Then, without a thought that Big Tom might come forth, see, and seeing,
disapprove, Johnnie switched to the floor that square of oilcloth which
so often covered the Table Round, rolled the wash-tub into place at the
cloth's center, and partly filled it. At once there followed such a
soaping and scrubbing, such a splashing and rinsing! Whenever the cold
water struck a sore spot there were gasps and ouches.

A close attention to details was not lacking. Ears were not forgotten,
nor the areas behind them; nor was the neck (all the way around); nor
were such soil-gathering spots as knee-knobs and elbow-points; nor even
the black-and-blue streaks across an earnest face. And presently, the
drying process over, and Cis's old toothbrush laid away, a pink and
glowing body was bending and twisting close to the window, and shooting
out its limbs.

When Johnnie was dressed, and stood, clean and combed and straight on
his pins, his chest heaving as he glanced around a kitchen which was
shipshape, and upon his aged friend, who was as presentable as possible,
it occurred to him that when a caller happened in this morning--Mrs.
Kukor, Father Pat, or Cis; or when he, himself, fetched King Arthur, or
Mr. Roosevelt, or Robinson Crusoe, no excuses of any kind would have to
be made. He and his house were in order.

Mrs. Kukor. So far he had not noticed a sound from overhead. When the
brown shoes were on, he rapped an I'm-coming-up signal on the sink pipe.
There was no answer. He rapped it again, and louder, watching the clock
this time, in order to give the little Jewish lady a full minute to rise
from her rocking chair. But she did not rise; and no steps went
doll-walking across the ceiling. At this early hour could Mrs. Kukor be
out? He went up.

Another surprise. Another change. Another blow. At her door was her
morning paper, with its queer lettering; on the door, pinned low, was
what looked like a note. Feeling sure that it had been left for him,
Johnnie carried it half-way to the roof to get a light on its message,
which was sorry news indeed:

_Der Jony my rebeka has so bad sicknus i needs to go by hir love Leah
Kukor._

He was so pained by the explanation, so saddened to learn that his
devoted friend would be gone all day, that he descended absentmindedly
to the flat directly below Barber's, where he walked in unceremoniously
upon nine Italians of assorted sizes--the Fossis, all swarmed about
their br