“Poor child,” she shouted into the other’s reluctant ears, “I hate to waken you, but open your eyes and tell me if you think we’re nearly there?”
“Where?” murmured Katherine and sank back into the peace of slumber.
“Why, there, THERE, at your home—will—you—wake—up?” Each of the last words was accompanied by more vigorous shaking, “as—I—said—” shake, shake, “I—hate—to—waken—you—”
“Yes, you do,” reproached Katherine in perfectly normal tones, turning staring mockingly at her room-mate. “Yes, you hate it—I thought you were a wreck, you shook me so hard.”
“I am a wreck after all that difficulty to make you wake up,” declared Peggy serenely. “Now, let’s hurry and go to breakfast.”
“Do you know what your new name is going to be as soon as we get back to school?” threatened Katherine.
“No,” indifferently.
“Pig Peggy.”
“Oh,” said Peggy, “well, I’ll look you up one in the dictionary,—maybe in the Latin dictionary, and then you’ll never know what it means and can’t pay me back for it.”
It is surprising how quickly two girls can be ready for breakfast when they hear the waiter crying out “Last—call for breakfast—” through a rocking train.