We can get up there by a little after, and
Mrs. Arty stays up playing cards till after twelve."
"Golly!" Mr. Wrenn agitatedly ejaculated under his breath, as
they noisily entered Mrs. Arty's--though not noisily on his part.
The parlor door was open. Mrs. Arty's broad back was toward
them, and she was announcing to James T. Duncan and Miss
Proudfoot, with whom she was playing three-handed Five Hundred,
"Well, I'll just bid seven on hearts if you're going to get so
set up." She glanced back, nodded, said, "Come in, children,"
picked up the "widow," and discarded with quick twitches of
the cards. The frightened Mr. Wrenn, feeling like a shipwrecked
land-lubber, compared this gaming smoking woman unfavorably with
the intense respectability of his dear lost patron, Mrs. Zapp.
He sat uneasy till the hand of cards was finished, feeling as
though they were only tolerating him. And Nelly Croubel was
nowhere in sight.
Suddenly said Mrs. Arty, "And now you would like to look at that
room, Mr. Wrenn, unless I'm wrong.
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