Their house would have delighted Madame Bernard—­it was so eminently harmonious and suitable.  The ragged carpets showed the floor in many places, and there were no curtains at any of the windows.  Romeo cherished a masculine distaste for curtains and Juliet did not trouble herself to oppose him.  The furniture was old and most of it was broken.  The large easy chair in the sitting room was almost disembowelled, and springs showed through the sofa, except in the middle, where there was a cavernous depression.  Several really fine paintings adorned the walls, and the dingy mantel was glorified by exquisite bits of Cloisonne and iridescent glass, for which Juliet had a pronounced fancy.

“Set the table, will you, Romie?” called Juliet, tying a large blue gingham apron over her sweater.  “I’m almost starved.”

“So’m I, but I’ve got to feed the dogs first.”

“Let ’em wait,” pleaded Juliet.  “Please do!”

“Don’t be so selfish!  They’re worse off than we are, for they haven’t even had tea.”

While the pack fought, outside, for rib bones and raw steak, Juliet opened a can of salmon, fried some potatoes, put a clean spoon into a jar of jam, and cut a loaf of bread into thick slices.  When Romeo came in, he set the table, made coffee, and opened a can of condensed milk.  They disdained to wash dishes, but cleared off the table, after supper, lighted the lamp, and talked automobile until almost midnight.

In less than an hour, Romeo had completed the plans for remodelling the barn.  They had no horse, but as a few bits of harness remained from the last equine incumbent, they usually alluded to the barn as “the bridle chamber.”

“We’ll have to name the barn again,” mused Juliet, “and we can name the automobile, too.”

“Wait until we get it.  What colour shall we have?”

“They’re usually red or black, aren’t they?” she asked, doubtfully.

“I guess so.  We want ours different, don’t we?”

“Sure.  We want something that nobody ever had before—­something bright and cheerful.  Oh, Romie,” she continued, jumping up and down in excitement, “let’s have it bright yellow and call it ’The Yellow Peril’!”

Her twin offered her a friendly hand.  “Jule,” he said solemnly, “you’re a genius!”

“We’ll have brown leather inside, and get brown clothes to match.  Brown hats with yellow bands on ’em—­won’t it be perfectly scrumptious?”

“Scrumptious is no word for it.  Shall we have two seats or four?”

“Four, of course.  A two-seated automobile looks terribly selfish.”

“Stingy, too,” murmured Romeo, “and we can afford the best.”

“Do you know,” Juliet suggested, after deep thought, “I think it would be nice of us if we waited to take our first ride until we celebrate for Uncle?”

“It would,” admitted Romeo, gloomily, “but it’s such a long time to wait.”

“We can learn to run it here in the yard—­there’s plenty of room.  And on the thirtieth of June, we’ll take our first real ride in it.  Be a sport, Romie,” she urged, as he maintained an unhappy silence.