"But isn't anybody hurt?" cried Nan.

"Lots of 'em," replied the clerk cheerfully "Git dap!"

They now executed a flank attack on the "fashionable" quarter of the town.

"They're grading the street down below," the clerk justified his roundabout
course.

Here were a number of isolated, scattered wooden houses, of some size and
of much scroll and jigsaw work. Some of them had little ornamental iron
fencelets running along their ridgepoles, or lightning rods on the chimneys
or at the corners, although thunderstorms were practically unknown. The
clerk at once began to talk of these as "mansions." He drew up before one
of them, hitched the horse, and invited his clients to descend. Nan looked
at the exterior a trifle doubtfully. It was a high-peaked, slender house,
drawn together as though it felt cold; with carved wooden panels over each
window, miniature balconies with elaborate spindly columns beneath, and a
haughty, high, narrow porch partially clothing a varnished front door
flanked with narrow strips of coloured glass.

The clerk produced a key. The interior also was high and narrow. Much
glistening varnish characterized the front hall. They inspected one after
another the various rooms. The house was partly furnished. In the showrooms
hung heavy red curtains held back by cords with gilt tassels. Each
fireplace was framed by a mantel of white marble. But the glory was the
drawing-room. This had been frescoed in pale blue, and all about the wall
and even across part of the ceiling had been draped festoon after festoon
of fishnet. Only this was not real fishnet, as a closer inspection showed.
It had been cunningly painted! In the dim light, and to a person with an