"The bus is here," he said fussily. "Come on, Will; come, Linda, and you,
Flavilla, Drusilla, and Sybilla, get your furs on. Don't take the
elevator. Go down by the stairs, and hurry! If there's one thing in this
world I won't do it is to wait for anybody on earth!"
Flunkies and maids flew distractedly about with fur coats, muffs, and
stoles. In solemn assemblage the family expedition filed past the
elevator, descended the stairs to the lower hall, and there drew up for
final inspection.
A mink-infested footman waited outside; valets, butlers, second-men and
maids came to attention.
"Where's Sacharissa?" demanded Mr. Carr, sonorously.
"Here, dad," said his oldest daughter, strolling calmly into the hall,
hands still linked loosely behind her.
"Why haven't you got your hat and furs on?" demanded her father.
"Because I'm not going, dad," she said sweetly.
The family eyed her in amazement.
"Not going?" shouted her father, in a mellow bellow. "Yes, you are! Not
_going!_ And why the dickens not?"
"I really don't know, dad," she said listlessly. "I don't want to go."
Her father waved both pudgy arms furiously. "Don't you feel well? You
look well. You _are_ well. Don't you _feel_ well?"
"Perfectly."
"No, you don't! You're pale! You're pallid! You're peaked! Take a tonic
and lie down. Send your maid for some doctors--all kinds of doctors--and
have them fix you up.
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