The door opened, and the figure of Peters appeared on the threshold; and
Priscilla basely fled, leaving her room-mate stranded on the ladder.
"Are you the young lady who borrowed my screw--" Peters stopped and
looked at the floor, and his jaw dropped in astonishment. "Where is that
there carpet?" he demanded, in a tone which seemed to imply that he
thought it was under the paint.
"It's out in the hall," said Patty, pleasantly. "Please be careful and
don't step on the paint. It's a great improvement, don't you think?"
"You oughter got permission--" he began, but his eye fell on the
tapestry and he stopped again.
"Yes," said Patty; "but we knew you couldn't spare a man just now to
paint it for us, so we didn't like to trouble you."
"It's against the rules to hang curtains on the walls."
"I have heard that it was," said Patty, affably, "and I think ordinarily
it's a very good rule. But just look at the color of that wall-paper.
It's pea-green. You have had enough experience with wall-paper, Mr.
Peters, to know that _that_ is impossible, especially when our
window-curtains and portières are red."
Peters's eyes had traveled to the closet, bereft of its door. "Are you
the young lady," he demanded gruffly, "who asked me to have that door
taken off its hinges?"
"No," said Patty; "I think that must have been my room-mate. It was
_very_ heavy," she continued plaintively, "and we had a great deal of
trouble getting it down, but of course we realized that you were awfully
busy, and that it really wasn't your fault. That's what I wanted the
screw-driver for," she added. "I'm sorry that I didn't get it back last
night, but I was very tired, and I forgot."
[Illustration: Men know such a lot about such things!]
Peters merely grunted. He was examining a corner cabinet hanging on the
wall. "Didn't you know," he asked severely, "that it's against the rules
to put nails in the plaster?"
"Those aren't nails," expostulated Patty. "They're hooks. I remembered
that you didn't like holes, so I only put in two, though I am really
afraid that three are necessary. What do you think, Mr. Peters? Does it
seem solid?"
Peters shook it. "It's solid enough," he said sulkily. As he turned, his
eye fell on the table in Priscilla's bedroom. "Is that a gas-stove in
there?" he demanded.
Patty shrugged her shoulders. "An apology for one--be _careful_, Mr.
Peters! _Don't_ get against that bookcase. It's just painted."
Peters jumped aside, and stood like the Colossus of Rhodes, with one
foot on one stepping-stone, and the other on another three feet away. It
is hard for even a janitor to be dignified in such a position, and
while he was gathering his scattered impressions Patty looked longingly
around the room for some one to enjoy the spectacle with her. She felt
that the silence was becoming ominous, however, and she hastened to
interrupt it.
"There's something wrong with that stove; it won't burn a bit. I am
afraid we didn't put it together just right. I shouldn't be surprised if
_you_ might be able to tell what's the matter with it, Mr. Peters." She
smiled sweetly. "Men know such a lot about such things! Would you mind
looking at it?"
Peters grunted again; but he approached the stove.
Five minutes later, when Priscilla stuck her head in to find out if, by
chance, anything remained of Patty, she saw Peters on his knees on the
floor of her bedroom, with the dismembered stove scattered about him,
and heard him saying, "I don't know as I have any call to report you,
for I s'pose, since they're up, they might as well stay"; and Patty's
voice returning: "You're _very_ kind, Mr. Peters. Of course if we'd
_known_--" Priscilla shut the door softly, and retired around the corner
to await Peters's departure.
"How in the world did you manage him?" she asked, bursting in as soon as
the sound of his footsteps had died away down the corridor. "I expected
to sing a requiem over your remains, and I found Peters on his knees,
engaged in amicable conversation."
Patty smiled inscrutably. "You must remember," she said, "that Peters is
not only a janitor: he is also a man."