To the early clattering of that faithful chariot of daybreak, the milk-wagon, and with the April dawn quivering and flushing over the roofs of houses, Mrs. Binswanger rose from her restless couch and into a black flannelette wrapper.
"Simon, wake up! How a man can sleep like that the day what he starts for Europe!"
To her husband's continued and stentorian evidences of sleep she tiptoed to the adjoining bedroom, slippered feet sloughing as she walked.
"Girls!"
Only their light breathing answered her. Atop the bed-coverlet her younger daughter's hand lay upturned, the fingers curling toward the palm.
"Ray! Miriam!"
Miriam stirred and burrowed deeper into her pillow, her hair darkly spread against the white in a luxury of confusion.
"Girls!"
"What, mamma?"
"Five o'clock, Miriam, and we ain't got the trunks strapped yet, or that seasick medicine from Mrs. Berkovitz."