Presently there was a great noise on the cellar stairs, sounding like distant thunder. The noise stopped for a moment.
"What's going on?" asked the professor casually. "Socialists in the cellar? Not that I care," he added, with a wave of his cigarette. "Mere curiosity. I should be glad to meet any socialists; but not in the cellar."
Mrs. Ladue laughed gently. It was a long time since the professor had heard her laugh. That thought occurred to him.
"You will, I think. They are opening the cellar door now. There they come."
For the noise had resumed, and was approaching along the hall. The door of the dining-room swung open suddenly and Charlie entered, earnest and intent and covered with dust and cobwebs. Behind him dragged three snow-shovels, also covered with dust and cobwebs.
He brushed her aside. "I brung your shovel, father," he said, "an' Sally's. I couldn't lift 'em all at once, an' so I dragged 'em."
The professor bowed. "So I gathered," he replied. "I thank you, Charles."
"But, Charlie," Sally cried, "you're all over dust and so are the shovels. They ought to have been dusted."
Charlie had dropped the shovels on the floor, thinking his mission ended. Now he leaned over and thoughtfully wiped the shovels, one after another, with his hand.
"They are," he said, gazing at his grimy hand, "aren't they? But it was dark an' I couldn't see. Besides, the snow'll clean 'em. I want to shovel an' race, father," he added, somewhat impatiently. "Isn't it time yet?"
"Charlie," said his father, throwing away his cigarette, "in the words of Friar Bacon's brass head, time is. Come on."
The next month passed very pleasantly for the Ladues. Sleet-storms cannot last forever and, the morning after Christmas, Sally heard the trains running with some regularity. She was anxious accordingly and she watched her father closely. But he did not seem to care whether trains ever ran or not. His pleasant mood lasted, too: the mood of light banter, in which he appeared to care something for his wife and children; something, if not enough. They were grateful for that little, although they knew very well that it was but a mood that might change utterly in five minutes. It did not change for a surprisingly long time, and Sally almost held her breath at first, while she waited for it to pass. It would have been a relief--yes, distinctly it would have been a relief, at first. But that feeling passed, too.