“Now for the New World, Christopher,” she said, pretending to be very eager and brave and like the real Columbus, as the taxi stopped.

CHAPTER XIV

The taxi had stopped in front of a handsome apartment house, and almost before it was quiet a boy in buttons darted out across the intervening wide pavement and thrust his face through the window.

“Who do you want?” he said, or rather jerked out.

He then saw the contents of the taxi, and his mouth fell open; for it seemed to him that grips and passengers were piled up inside it in a seething mass.

“We want Mr. and Mrs. Clouston Sack,” said Anna-Rose in her most grown-up voice.  “They’re expecting us.”

“They ain’t,” said the boy promptly.

“They ain’t?” repeated Anna-Rose, echoing his language in her surprise.

“How do you know?” asked Anna-Felicitas.

“That they ain’t?  Because they ain’t,” said the boy.  “I bet you my Sunday shirt they ain’t.”

The twins stared at him.  They were not accustomed in their conversations with the lower classes to be talked to about shirts.

The boy seemed extraordinarily vital.  His speech was so quick that it flew out with the urgency and haste of squibs going off.

“Please open the door,” said Anna-Rose recovering herself.  “We’ll go up and see for ourselves.”

“You won’t see,” said the boy.

“Kindly open the door,” repeated Anna-Rose.

“You won’t see,” he said, pulling it open, “but you can look.  If you do see Sacks up there I’m a Hun.”

The minute the door opened, grips fell out.  There were two umbrellas, two coats, a knapsack of a disreputable bulged appearance repugnant to American ideas of baggage which run on big simple lines of huge trunks, an attache case, a suit case, a hold-all, a basket and a hat-box.  Outside beside the driver were two such small and modest trunks that they might almost as well have been grips themselves.

“Do you mind taking those in?” asked Anna-Rose, getting out with difficulty over the umbrella that had fallen across the doorway, and pointing to the gutter in which the other umbrella and the knapsack lay and into which the basket, now that her body no longer kept it in, was rolling.

“In where?” crackled the boy.

“In,” said Anna-Rose severely.  “In to wherever Mr. and Mrs. Clouston Sack are.”

“It’s no good your saying they are when they ain’t,” said the boy, increasing the loudness of his crackling.

“Do you mean they don’t live here?” asked Anna-Felicitas, in her turn disentangling herself from that which was still inside the taxi, and immediately followed on to the pavement by the hold-all and the attache case.

“They did live here till yesterday,” said the boy, “but now they don’t.  One does.  But that’s not the same as two.  Which is what I meant when you said they’re expecting you and I said they ain’t.”