“Which reminds me,” I remarked reminiscently, “of the man who traveled far and vainly in search of a certain plant which, on his return, he found growing beside his own doorstep.”
Silvia paid no heed to my misplaced pleasantry. She was right––as usual. It was no time for levity.
“I don’t see,” spoke my unappreciative wife, addressing Ptolemy, “why their absence should make any difference in your remaining at home. Gladys can cook your meals and put Diogenes to bed as usual.”
“Gladys has gone,” piped Demetrius. “She left yesterday afternoon. She was only staying till she could get her pay.”
“Father forgot to get another girl in her place,” informed Ptolemy, “and he forgot to tell mother he had forgotten until just before they went to the train. She said it didn’t matter––that we could just as well come over here and stay with you.”
“She said,” added Pythagoras, “that you were so crazy over children, that probably you’d be glad to have us stay with you all the time.”
My last strawberry remained poised in mid-air. It was quite apparent to me now that there was nothing funny about this situation.
“Milk, milk!” whimpered Diogenes, pulling at Silvia’s dress and making frantic efforts to reach the cream pitcher.
Huldah had come in with the griddle-cakes during this avalanche of news.