There are no servants—­think of it, Mumsy.  I wish you had made me learn to cook.  Mr. Harbison has shown me a little—­he was a soldier in the Spanish War—­but we girls are a terribly ignorant lot, Mumsy, about the real things of life.

Now, don’t worry.  It is more sport than camping in the Adirondacks, and not nearly so damp.

Your loving daughter, Katherine.

P.S.—­South America must be wonderful.  Why can’t we put the Gadfly in commission, and take a coasting trip this summer?  It is a shame to own a yacht and never use it.  K.

This note, evidently delivered by Messenger, was found among other Litter in the vestibule after the lifting of the quarantine.

Mr. Alex Dodds, City Editor, Mail and Star: 

Dear D.—­Can’t get a picture.  Have waited seven hours.  They have closed the shutters.

McCord.

Written on the back of the above note.

Watch the roof.

Dodds.

Chapter IX.  FLANNIGAN’S FIND

The most charitable thing would be to say nothing about the first day.  We were baldly brutal—­that’s the only word for it.  And Mr. Harbison, with his beautiful courtesy—­the really sincere kind—­tried to patch up one quarrel after another and failed.  He rose superbly to the occasion, and made something that he called a South American goulash for luncheon, although it was too salty, and every one was thirsty the rest of the day.

Bella was horrid, of course.  She froze Jim until he said he was going to sit in the refrigerator and cool the butter.  She locked herself in the dressing room—­it had been assigned to me, but that made no difference to Bella—­and did her nails, and took three different baths, and refused to come to the table.  And of course Jimmy was wild, and said she would starve.  But I said, “Very well, let her starve.  Not a tray shall leave my kitchen.”  It was a comfort to have her shut up there anyhow; it postponed the time when she would come face to face with Flannigan.

Aunt Selina got sick that day, as I have said.  I was not so bitter as the others; I did not say that I wished she would die.  The worst I ever wished her was that she might be quite ill for some time, and yet, when she began to recover, she was dreadful to me.  She said for one thing, that it was the hard-boiled eggs and the state of the house that did it, and when I said that the grippe was a germ, she retorted that I had probably brought it to her on my clothing.