Quite obviously Sam was obeying the strict letter of the law, so Ross came in again, and I remarked,—
'And I say, same hours when it's only me, Sam.'
'If you could both remember about the verb "to be,"' began my brother.
'I can't,' I said.
Sam dropped into a chair, looking as if he'd like to smash all clocks, and remarked he was absolutely fed up.
'Well, we're not, we're half starved. That's why we've come to tea.'
'You want to count your mercies, Sam,' I said, which being a remark to which my Aunt Amelia is much addicted, was the most aggravating thing I could think of at the moment. When one is down on one's luck it is fatal to be sympathetic, and Sam was down on his, right on the bed-rock bottom of it.
'Well, I'm counting the mercies he's got and we haven't,' said Ross; 'there's quite a respectable bit of heaven spread on this table at the moment. A whole loaf, a pound of butter, two pounds of strawberry jam and jorams of Devonshire cream, goodies with sugar on top, and a plum cake that you can cut. My hat, some people have all the luck. It's a regular Hickley Wood one.'
'Make the tea, Sam,' I exclaimed, 'the kettle's boiling; mind you don't set the woods alight.'
'Have I ever set the woods alight, miss?' Sam asked indignantly.