The upper part of the front door was set with two panels of beveled
glass, decorated with a scroll design in frosted glass. When Susan
Brown had been a very small girl she would sometimes stand inside
this door and study the passing show of Fulton Street for hours at a
time. Somebody would come running up the street steps, and pull the
bell! Susan could hear it tinkle far downstairs in the kitchen, and
would bashfully retire to the niche by the hat-rack. Minnie or
Lizzie, or perhaps a Japanese schoolboy,--whoever the servant of the
hour might be, would come slowly up the inside stairs, and
cautiously open the street door an inch or two.

A colloquy would ensue. No, Mrs. Lancaster wasn't in, no, none of
the family wasn't in. He could leave it. She didn't know, they
hadn't said. He could leave it. No, she didn't know.

The collector would discontentedly depart, and instantly Mary Lou or
Georgie, or perhaps both, would hang over the railing in the upper
hall.

"Lizzie, who was it?" they would call down softly, impatient and
excited, as Lizzie dragged her way upstairs.

"Who was it, Mary Lou?"

"Why, how do I know?"

"Here, GIVE it to me, Lizzie!"

A silence. Then, "Oh, pshaw!" and the sound of a closing door. Then