The pounding on the door continued. John looked at his watch; it was
only 8 o'clock.
"Hi, there!" he called viciously. "What do you mean, anyhow?" he went
on, elevating his voice again; "shaking a man out of bed when he's
just dropping into his first sleep?"
"I mean that you're going to get up; that's what!" replied a firm
female voice. "It's 8 o'clock, and I want to put your room in order;
and I'm not going to wait all day about it, either! Get up and go down
to your breakfast, and let me have the room!" And the clamor at the
door was industriously renewed.
"Say!" called John, querulously, hurrying on his clothes, "Say! you!"
"There's no 'say' about it!" responded the determined voice: "I've
heard about you and your ways around this house, and I'm not going to
put up with it! You'll not lie in bed till high noon when I've got to
keep your room in proper order!"
"Oh ho!" bawled John, intelligently: "reckon you're the new invasion
here? Doubtless you're the girl that's been hanging up the new
window-blinds that won't roll, and disguising the pillows with clean
slips, and 'hennin' round among my books and papers on the table here,
and ageing me generally till I don't know my own handwriting by the
time I find it! Oh, yes! you're going to revolutionize things here;
you're going to introduce promptness, and system, and order.
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