"There spoke the doctor," said Jessamy. "A couch is always useful. I suppose we shall have to have a trunk in each room besides," she added ruefully.
"If you could bring yourself to part with that table, you could set the trunk--the flat-topped one--in the window, and I could case it in with white pine; we'd cover it all over with felt, and it wouldn't be a very bad-looking book-stand," said Tom.
"Well, you are a genius!" cried Bab, in open admiration.
Phyllis sang softly under her breath, to the tune of "St. Patrick's Day in the Morning":
"All hail to the doctor who seems to be able To mend up a nose, or to make up a table! We gladly would cheer him, but that it seems risky, For cheers in a boarding-house may be too frisky."
"Well, I never!" laughed Tom. "Say, was that--of course it had to be--improvised?"
"Oh, Phyl is a genius," said Jessamy, proudly. "One of these days her name will be in all the magazines, and at last in the encyclopedia."
"And maybe in oblivion," added Phyl. "What time do you--do we dine, Doctor Leighton?"
"At six; I suppose you want to get ready. It is your first appearance in a boarding-house dining-room; you must make a strong impression."
"Yes, and only look at my court-plaster! Nixie, your first impression was too strong," groaned Bab.
"You mustn't let Nixie bother you; he'll try to be friendly," warned Tom.
"Let him, and his master, too," said Mrs. Wyndham, heartily. "You will both cheer us, and I appreciate your kindness very fully."
"Not a bit kindness, ma'am," said Tom, promptly. "I tell you, you don't know how forlorn a boy is alone in a boarding-house. It does me good to get a home breath again."
"We'll help each other if we can," said Mrs. Wyndham, gently. "You can't be more than a year or so older than my girls, and a nice boy will be a welcome addition to storm-tossed lassies' lives."
"Not to mention Nixie; _dogs_ are so dear," said Bab, with a slight, naughty emphasis on "dogs."
Tom and Nixie departed, followed by praise from all the Wyndhams. Fifteen minutes later a gong sounded through the house, and Mrs. Wyndham and the girls made their long descent into the basement.
Two tables ran the full length of the dining-room, at the first of which the newcomers took their places. A severe old lady, presented to them as Mrs. Hardy, sat at its head, beside Mrs. Wyndham. She demanded--and so received--more attention than any one else in the house; her favorite theme was her past splendors and the dignity of her acquaintances. Opposite Mrs. Wyndham sat a big, kindly-looking man, who said he was "just in" from a Western trip, thus revealing himself a traveling salesman. He was pathetically fond of his two overgrown, ill-mannered children, and deprecating toward his peevish wife, who, with the elegance brought from her early apprenticeship to a milliner, assumed superiority to her less pretentious husband, thus keeping him in wholesome abeyance and general readiness to endow her with ornaments.