His wife turned about, laughing like a girl. "Maybe in there," she
suggested, "you could find a chair small enough to hang your coat across
the back of. I'm afraid it'll get all wrinkled, folded like that."
Uncle Rufus explored. After a minute he came back. "There's a queer sort
of bureau-thing in there all filled with coat-and-pants hangers," he
announced. "I'm going to put my things in it. It'll keep 'em from
getting wrinkled, as you say."
When he returned: "There's another bed in there," he said. "I don't know
what it's for. It's got the covers all turned back, too, just like this
one. Maybe we've made a mistake. Maybe there's somebody that has that
room, and he hasn't come in yet. Do you suppose I'd better shut the door
between?"
"Maybe you had," agreed his wife anxiously. "It would be dreadful if he
should come in after a while. Still--young Mr. Kendrick called it your
dressing-room."
"And my clothes are in there," added Uncle Rufus. "It's all right.
Probably the girl made a mistake when she fixed that bed--thought there
was a child with us, maybe."
"You might just shut the door," Aunt Ruth suggested.
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