The two continued their breakfast in silence, which was presently interrupted by the advent of a fourth member of the family. Forrest Townsend, flinging into the room with a rush, dressed in riding clothes, and casting hat and crop upon a chair as he passed it, offered a picturesque contrast to the two dark-eyed young persons. Of a little more than medium height, strongly built, fair-haired and blue-eyed, he looked the young athlete that he was.
"Hello!" was his morning greeting, as he dropped into a chair. He proceeded instantly to give his directions to the maid. No invalid order was his.
"No--no grapefruit. I want my chop, and some bacon and eggs; tell Gretchen to brown the eggs better than she did yesterday. Muffins this morning? What? Oh bother! You know I hate toast, Annie! Oh, waffles--that's better! Coffee, of course."
"Sounds like an order you 'd give at a hotel," observed his sister, with scorn. "I wonder Gretchen does n't make a fuss at having to cook a whole breakfast like that just for you. Nobody else wants such a heavy meal at this hour."
"The bigger geese you all are then. If I picked at my breakfast the way the rest of you do, I 'd soon lose this good muscle and wind of mine."
"I never heard that hot waffles and syrup were good for muscle and wind." Murray looked cynical under his dark eyebrows. "They would n't be allowed at any training-table."
Forrest leaned back in his chair and surveyed his brother. "A lot you know about training tables--a fellow who spent his two college years cramming for honours," he said, pointedly. "No wonder you look like a pale ghost on such rations. Here comes mother at last."
Mrs. Harrison Townsend, in a trailing pale blue gown, her fair hair piled high upon her head, came in with an air of abstraction.
"Out late last night?" Forrest asked her, attacking his chop with relish. "A dissipated lot you all look but me. Even Murray would be taken for a chap that got in toward morning. That comes of reading in bed. Now look at me. I was in after the last of you, and I 'm as fresh as a daisy."
"For a boy not out of his teens your hours strike me as peculiar." Murray rose slowly as he spoke. He glanced at his mother. She was busy with letters she had found at her plate.