SEA
AT LAST, THE REAL RIGHT SCHEME
PART ONE
THE WEST SIDE
I
THE NEW HOME
"Is that the house!" Milly Ridge exclaimed disapprovingly.
Her father, a little man, with one knee bent against the unyielding, newly varnished front door, glanced up apprehensively at the figures painted on the glass transom above. In that block of little houses, all exactly alike, he might easily have made a mistake. Reassured he murmured over his shoulder—"Yes—212—that's right!" and he turned the key again.
Milly frowning petulantly continued her examination of the dirty yellow brick face of her new home. She could not yet acquiesce sufficiently in the fact to