unpacking done so quickly or so recklessly"]
"You two go ahead," she said. "The air will do you good, Laura. I
have something I want to do," and she ran back.
She entered the house, and looked out of the window until she saw
the Fenelbys go into the Rankins' and come out again, and saw them
start to the station, but as soon as they were out of sight she
dashed down the porch steps and threw open the lids of her trunks.
Never in the history of trunks was the act of unpacking done so
quickly or so recklessly. She dived into the masses of fluffiness
and emerged with great armfuls, and hurried them into the house, up
the stairs, and into her closet, and was down again for another
load. If she had been looting the trunks she could not have worked
more hurriedly, or more energetically, and when the last armful had
been carried up she slammed the lids and turned the keys, and sank
in a graceful position on the lower porch step.
Mr. and Mrs. Fenelby returned with leisurely slowness of pace, the
station loafer and man-of-little-work slouching along at a
respectful distance behind them. Kitty greeted them with a cheerful
frankness of face. The man-of-little-work looked at the three big
trunks as if their size was in some way a personal insult to him. He
tried to assume the look of a man who had been cozened away from his
needed rest on false pretences.
"I didn't know as the trunks was as big as them," he drawled. "If
I'd knowed they was, I wouldn't of walked all the way over here.
Fifty cents ain't no fair price for carryin' three trunks, the size
and heft of them, across--well, say this is a sixty foot
street--say, eighty feet, and up a flight of stairs. I don't say
nothin', but I'll leave it to the ladies."
"Fifty cents!" cried Kitty. "I should think not! Why, I didn't
imagine you would do it for less than a dollar. I mean to pay you a
dollar."
"That's right," said the man. "You see I have to walk all the way
back to the station when I git through, too. My time goin' and
comin' is worth something."
[Illustration: "With all the grace of a Sandow"]
He bent down and took the largest trunk by one handle, to heave it
to his back, and as he touched the handle the trunk almost arose
into the air of its own accord. The man straightened up and looked
at it, and a strange look passed across his face, but he closed
his mouth and said nothing.
"Would you like a lift?" asked Mr. Fenelby.
"No," said the man shortly.
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