"
Bartley began to sort the greens. "It looks very splendid there, but I
feel piggish to have it. However, we really spend more time there than
anywhere else in the house. Will you hand me the holly?"
He climbed up the stepladder, which creaked under his weight, and
began to twist the tough stems of the holly into the frame-work of the
chandelier.
"I forgot to tell you that I had a letter from Wilson, this morning,
explaining his telegram. He is coming on because an old uncle up in
Vermont has conveniently died and left Wilson a little money--something
like ten thousand. He's coming on to settle up the estate. Won't it be
jolly to have him?"
"And how fine that he's come into a little money. I can see him posting
down State Street to the steamship offices. He will get a good many
trips out of that ten thousand. What can have detained him? I expected
him here for luncheon."
"Those trains from Albany are always late. He'll be along sometime this
afternoon. And now, don't you want to go upstairs and lie down for
an hour? You've had a busy morning and I don't want you to be tired
to-night."
After his wife went upstairs Alexander worked energetically at the
greens for a few moments. Then, as he was cutting off a length of
string, he sighed suddenly and sat down, staring out of the window at
the snow. The animation died out of his face, but in his eyes there was
a restless light, a look of apprehension and suspense. He kept clasping
and unclasping his big hands as if he were trying to realize something.
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