"She! Is it a woman that owns it, and do you know her? And do you know the agent, too?"
"Yes." Mrs. Carew bit her lips. "I know her, and I know the agent."
"Oh, I'm so glad," sighed Pollyanna. "Then it'll be all right now."
"Well, it certainly will be—better," avowed Mrs. Carew with emphasis, as the car stopped before her own door.
Mrs. Carew spoke as if she knew what she was talking about. And perhaps, indeed, she did—better than she cared to tell Pollyanna. Certainly, before she slept that night, a letter left her hands addressed to one Henry Dodge, summoning him to an immediate conference as to certain changes and repairs to be made at once in tenements she owned. There were, moreover, several scathing sentences concerning "rag-stuffed windows," and "rickety stairways," that caused this same Henry Dodge to scowl angrily, and to say a sharp word behind his teeth—though at the same time he paled with something very like fear.
