ir second story back
windows. That's why they came. So you may as well get up and face them.
I promised them I'd bring you in. You can't go on forever refusing to
see people, and you know the Whalens are--"

"Whalens!" I gasped. "How many of them? Not--not the entire fiendish
three?"

"All three. I left them champing with impatience."

The Whalens live just around the corner. The Whalens are omniscient.
They have a system of news gathering which would make the efforts of a
New York daily appear antiquated. They know that Jenny Laffin feeds the
family on soup meat and oat-meal when Mr. Laffin is on the road; they
know that Mrs. Pearson only shakes out her rugs once in four weeks; they
can tell you the number of times a week that Sam Dempster comes home
drunk; they know that the Merkles never have cream with their coffee
because little Lizzie Merkle goes to the creamery every day with just
one pail and three cents; they gloat over the knowledge that Professor
Grimes, who is a married man, is sweet on Gertie Ashe, who teaches
second reader in his school; they can tell you where Mrs. Black got her
seal coat, and her husband only earning two thousand a year; they know
who is going to run for mayor, and how long poor Angela Sims has to
live, and what Guy Donnelly said to Min when he asked her to marry him.

The three Whalens--mother and daughters--hunt in a group. They send
meaning glances to one another across the room, and at parties they get
together and exchange bulletins in a corner. On passing the Whalen house
one is uncomfortably aware of shadowy forms lurking in the windows, and
of parlor curtains that are agitated for no apparent cause.

Therefore it was with a groan that I rose and prepared to follow Norah
into the house. Something in my eye caused her to turn at the very door.
"Don't you dare!" she hissed; then, banishing the warning scowl from
her face, and assuming a near-smile, she entered the room and I followed
miserably at her heels.

The Whalens rose and came forward effusively; Mrs. Whalen, plump, dark,
voluble; Sally, lean, swarthy, vindictive; Flossie, pudgy, powdered,
over-dressed. They eyed me hungrily. I felt that they were searching my
features for signs of incipient insanity.

"Dear, DEAR girl!" bubbled the billowy Flossie, kissing the end of my
nose and fastening her eye on my ringless left hand.

Sally contented herself with a limp and fishy handshake. She and I were
sworn enemies in our s