“You cook the fish, Mammy; we’ll go after supper.”
The old colored woman looked up with a shrewd smile.
“Yo’ all bettah go ’long to Major Carey’s tomorrow, lessen yo’ git ’nother mess o’ fish. Major Carey ain’t gwine to turn no one way from de table. De Carey’s has fish when dey wants dem. We all has ’em when we kin get ’em.”
Morey grew thoughtful. But, passing on into the hall he made his way lightly upstairs, that he might not disturb his mother, and entered his own little room.
It certainly looked restful, after his day’s activity, and throwing himself on the big, high-posted bed, he prepared to rest. But Morey was not used to passing the daylight hours thus and in a few minutes he was up and busy. His unpacked trunk was before him and he squatted on the floor beside it.
About five o’clock Mrs. Marshall, fresh and smiling, dressed in white and with a spray of honeysuckle in her dress, softly opened the door. On the floor, fast asleep, lay Morey. About him, in the direst confusion and disorder, were books, circulars, catalogues and newspaper clippings. The floor was littered with what had apparently been the principal contents of the boy’s trunk.
Mrs. Marshall picked her way among them; automobile catalogues, price list of motors, advertisements of balloon manufacturers, descriptions of aeroplane and dirigible balloon motors; newspaper clippings relating to airships and their flights; motor-boat pictures. By the unconscious boy’s arm lay a paper backed volume, “Aeroplanes; their Manufacture and Use.” Not less than fifty such items constituted the litter on the floor.
Mrs. Marshall touched Morey on the forehead. He sprang up, rubbed his eyes and yawned.
“Is this your school library?” asked his mother, laughing.
“Some of it,” answered Morey soberly. “I borrowed the rest.”