“Is it cooler in the bedroom?” queried Doodles. “If ’tis, I’ll go.”
Blue skipped away to investigate.
“Seems’s if ’twas—some,” he reported.
But Doodles, breathing the stuffy air of the little room, wished he was back at his window.
“Now p’raps you can go to sleep,” Blue told him.
“Maybe,” he replied patiently.
Blue sat down in the rocker, and fanned himself furiously with a newspaper. Then, tossing it to the floor, he went over to the window. The sun was like a furnace. “Goodness!” he ejaculated, and roved into the hall. Reminders of various dinners stole up the stairs. Still it seemed a little less stifling, and he dropped to the upper step. He sat there, allowing his thoughts wide range till they came back to Doodles. He jumped up, and tiptoed into the bedroom.
His brother spoke weakly. “P’raps I’d better go out to the window—I can’t breathe good in here.”
“Shouldn’t think you could!” Blue lifted him gently. “’Tisn’t so bad in the hall,” he said. “Let’s try that—I’ve been sitting there.”
Putting Doodles on the floor, he ran back for some cushions and arranged them as a sort of couch, on which he made the small boy as comfortable as he could.