"What is that?"
From the far end of the street came the sound, "Wuxtry! Here's your
Wuxtry! All about--"
"It's just the newsboy I was being like," said Bertie. "What's the
matter? What makes you shake so, Miss Lady?"
Myrtella thrust her head in the door. "Here comes that there Mrs. Ivy
running 'cross the yard. She's good fer a hour."
But Mrs. Ivy did not seem to be good for anything by the time Miss
Lady reached her. She was half reclining on a haircloth sofa in the
front hall with a bottle of smelling salts to her nose and a newspaper
in her hand.
"Oh, my _dear_!" she managed to gasp. "Such a frightful shock! So
utterly unexpected!"
"Do you mean Don?" Miss Lady's lips scarcely moved as she asked the
question.
"No, the bank! I was all alone in the house when I heard the boys
calling the extras--Ah! my poor weak heart!"
"Brandy?" suggested Miss Lady anxiously.
Mrs. Ivy raised feeble but protesting eyes: "Never! The Angel of Death
shall never find me with the odor of liquor on my lips. Could you send
for some nitroglycerin?"
By the time Mrs. Ivy was revived, Connie and Hattie had joined the
group in the hall, and the latter was reading aloud in awe-struck
tones the account of the People's Bank failure.
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