It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled “Correct Eating for Efficiency.” She bought it at once, and carried it home in triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two chapters before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live thus far with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance and her own criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare.
At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery, and, with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was to bring to them.
“Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!” she exclaimed. “It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food.”
“For what?” demanded Bertram, glancing up.
“The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest problem that modern scientists have to solve.”
“Humph!” shrugged Bertram. “Well, you just balance my food to my hunger, and I'll agree not to complain.”
“Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,” urged Billy, looking genuinely distressed. “Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you are. It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body power come from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint a picture you need something different from what you would if you were going to—to saw wood; and what this book tells is—is what I ought to give you to make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read so far. Now don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you the saw-wood kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to paint all day? And what if I should give Uncle William a—a soldier's breakfast when all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and sit still all day?”
“But—but, my dear,” began Uncle William, looking slightly worried, “there's my eggs that I always have, you know.”
“For heaven's sake, Billy, what have you got hold of now?” demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation.
Billy laughed merrily.