“Oh, doggone that collar button! That’s always the way when I’m in a hurry.”
“Carey, are you—you’re not—” She stopped to gather breath, and began again, “Carey, is there anything I can do to help you?”
“Only just get out of my way—please!” he roared as he tore past her down the stairs to the bathroom again and began to strop his razor furiously.
She came downstairs slowly, trying to think what to do. Calamity of unnamed proportions loomed ahead, and she felt she must prevent it somehow. She paused in the hall.
“Carey, is anything the matter?” she asked anxiously.
“There you are again, doggone it! Now you’ve made me cut myself, and I haven’t another collar. No, of course there isn’t anything the matter. I’m just in a hurry, can’t you see? They’re waiting for me!”
“Well, but why are you so cross?”
“Aw! I’m not cross. I’m just nervous. Now, just look at that collar! It’s just like all my luck.”
“I think your laundry came this morning,” volunteered his sister.
“Well! Why didn’t you say so? Where is it?”