Harry appeared angrily at the head of the stairs, his own costume only half completed, his hair sticking all ways.
“Great, lazy boob!” he was saying. “He never undressed at all!”
“Hush, dear! Don’t wake him. It will be better in every way if he gets his sleep out.”
“But he hasn’t seen the poetry at all,” wailed the disappointed boy. “I held it in front of his face, and he wouldn’t open his eyes. I washed his face for him, too; and he wouldn’t get up.”
“Well, never mind, dear; let him alone. I’ll save him some cakes after you are gone.”
“Yes, pet him up, the great, lazy baby! That’s what’s the matter with him; he’s too big a baby, selfish, selfish! That’s what he is.”
“Sh-sh, dear! Never mind! You can’t do anything when a person is as sleepy as that, and it’s no use trying. Come. Let’s have breakfast. I’ll be down as soon as you will”; and Cornelia smiled brightly above her aching heart, and hurried into her own clothes.
“Cakes! Cakes!” said Louise happily. “Won’t it be great? Oh, I just can hardly wait for them. I’m sorry Carey isn’t awake.”
“Never mind, dear; it will all come out straight pretty soon, and we mustn’t expect to succeed right away.”
So she cheered them on their way, and made the morning meal a success, steadily keeping her father’s thoughts from the absent boy upstairs until he had to run to catch his car. She put up a delightful lunch for Harry and Louise, with dates and cheese in some of the sandwiches and nuts and lettuce in others, and a big piece of gingerbread and an orange apiece.