“Did you get on to my classy hair part, Aunt Jan? All the women-getters at school do their hair this way now.”
“Really, Frank! Your language ...! I don’t know where or how you pick up such phrases.”
“Don’t be too critical, Alice. He attaches no significance to them. You know what boys are.”
There was an endless stream of such talk, Roy and his wife frequently maintaining one conversation between ends of the table, while their children carried on another across it.
Kate crammed the soiled dishes on the oval, black, tin tray, piled them high, and grasping the tray with strong arms, bore it to the kitchen, kicking the swing door violently open as she passed through.
Dessert made its appearance, usually a deep apple pie, a chocolate pudding or a mound of flavored jelly in which slices of banana careened at various angles. Kate refused flatly to bother with ice-cream. Once in a while she condescended to make a layer cake.
During the meal it was customary for the telephone to ring several times. Instantly at each summons, Etta would be upon her feet and make a quick dash for the instrument. Long conversations would ensue in which Etta’s voice would drift down to the dining-room.
“Well, I didn’t.... Well, you tell him I didn’t.... Well, you tell him I didn’t say anything of the kind.... I never did.... He’s just crazy.... I never said anything of the kind.... Well, you tell him I didn’t....”
“Etta!” her father would call presently. The voice would continue unfalteringly, and Roy at intervals would repeat her name until finally the long-winded parley would be brought to an end.
By two o’clock on this particular day the meal was over, and there was a general breaking-up of the group. Alice went out into the kitchen to prepare Nettie’s tray. Frank vanished in pursuit of his own affairs, which usually took him to the house of “Chinee” Langlon, whose parents were wealthy and had lavished everything they could think of on their one son, including an elaborate wireless outfit. Buddy Eckles arrived a few minutes past the hour, planting himself on the front steps, and waited ostensibly for Etta to go walking with him. Jeannette had her own ideas as to where they actually went. She suspected they made their way without delay to the home of some girl friend, whose parents were absent or had lax ideas about the Sabbath, and there, having carefully pulled down the window-shades, out of deference to the possible prejudices of passers-by, they rolled back the rugs, turned on the Victrola, and with other couples as frivolous as themselves, danced until within a minute or two of the time when it was necessary to return to their respective families. Ralph disappeared up into his den,—a wretched, ill-lighted, cramped chamber he had built himself in the attic. He kept the door of this apartment carefully locked at all times, and when within by the light of a kerosene lamp, read what his aunt earnestly hoped was entirely edifying literature, and where, she was thoroughly persuaded, he indulged secretly in cigarettes. Baby Roy wandered amiably and uncomplainingly about, listening to his elders’ conversation, or took himself off into the scraggy garden where he hid in strange nooks and told himself stories in a droning voice which always ended in frightening him. Jeannette regarded him the strangest of her sister’s children; she frankly declared she did not understand him and thought Alice outrageously lenient where he was concerned.