“Where’s father?”
“Uptown. He telephoned just now to know if you had come home. He ain’t coming home for dinner.”
Wint dropped his eyes for a moment, then lifted his head. “All right,” he said. “I—I suppose he’s mad as a hatter.”
Hetty chuckled softly. “Mad as two of ’em,” she declared. “You certainly have started something this time, Wint.”
He looked toward the biscuit board. “Are those for lunch?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How soon will they be ready?”
“Half an hour. You hungry?” She studied him, solicitude lurking in her eyes.
“Yes. I didn’t have any breakfast.”
The girl moved toward him with the quick instinct of woman. “You poor kid! I’ll get you something now.”