From the room adjoining Mrs. Binswanger leaned a crumpled coiffure
through the frame of the open door: "Simon, I got here that red woolen
undershirt. I want you should put it on before we start."

"Na, na, mamma, I--"

"Right away Mrs. Berkovitz says it will keep the salt air away from your
rheumatism. That's what I need yet, you should _grex_ from the start
with your backache. Ray, take this in to your papa. Fooling with that
new camera she stands all morning, when she should help a little. Look,
Miriam, you think that in here I got the express checks safe?"

"Yes, mamma."

At ten o'clock, with the last bolt sprung and the last baggage departed,
Mrs. Binswanger fell to the task of fitting gold links in her husband's
adjustable cuffs, polishing his various pairs of spectacles, inserting
various handkerchiefs in adjacent and expeditious pockets of his
clothing.

"Simon, I want you should go in and dress now. All your things is laid
right out on the bed for you."

"Mamma, you and papa don't need to begin to dress already. None of you
need to leave the house until about two, and it's only ten now. Just
think, from now until two o'clock you got to get ready in, mamma."

"When I travel I don't take no chances."

Miriam worked eager fingers into her new, dark-blue kid gloves. She was