_Dorothy._ We haven't. What put such an idea as that into your head?
_Barlow._ Why, I thought I heard the hissing of steam, the click of a radiator, or something of that sort back by the door.
_Dorothy._ I fancy it was your imagination; or perhaps it was the wind blowing through the hall. The pantry window is open.
_Barlow._ I guess maybe that's it. How fine it must be in the country now!
[_JENNIE pokes her head in through the portières again, and follows it with her arm and hand, in which is a feather-duster, which she waves wildly in an endeavor to attract YARDSLEY'S attention._
_Dorothy._ Divine. I should so love to be out of town still. It seems to me people always make a great mistake returning to the city so early in the fall. The country is really at its best at this time of year.
[_YARDSLEY turns half around, and is about to speak, when he catches sight of the now almost hysterical JENNIE and her feather-duster._
_Barlow._ Yes; I think so too. I was at Lenox last week, and the foliage was gorgeous.
_Yardsley_ (_feeling that he must say something_). Yes. I suppose all the feathers on the maple-trees are turning red by this time.
_Yardsley_ (_with a furtive glance at JENNIE_). Ha, ha! What an absurd slip! Did I say feathers? I meant--I meant leaves, of course. All the leaves on the dusters are turning.
_Barlow._ I don't believe you know what you do mean. Who ever heard of leaves on dusters? What are dusters? Do you know, Miss Dorothy?
[_As he turns to MISS ANDREWS, YARDSLEY tries to wave JENNIE away. She beckons with her arms more wildly than ever, and YARDSLEY silently speaks the words_, "Go away."
_Dorothy._ I'm sure I don't know of any tree by that name, but then I'm not a--not a what?
_Yardsley_ (_with a forced laugh_). Treeologist.
_Dorothy._ What are dusters, Mr. Yardsley?
_Barlow._ Yes, old man, tell us. I'm anxious to find out myself.
_Yardsley_ (_aside_). So am I. What the deuce are dusters, for this occasion only? (_Aloud._) What? Never heard of dusters? Ho! Why, dear me, where have you been all your lives? (_Aside._) Must gain time to think up what dusters are. (_Aloud._) Why, they're as old as the hills.
_Barlow._ That may be, but I can't say I think your description is at all definite.