HE PLAYS A TRICK ON THE DOCTOR
In the morning, John sneaked from the table as soon as the last forkfull of fried potatoes had been devoured. When Mrs. Fletcher brought the breakfast plates out to the kitchen sink, she found him on tiptoe, with one hand fumbling among the spice tins and bottles in the top bureau drawer. He turned guiltily, and yawned to hide his embarrassment.
"I was looking for a piece of cinnamon to chew," he explained. "Guess I'll be going to school now."
His mother glanced at the alarm clock which ticked noisily in its place on the wall over the sink.
"Only twenty-five minutes to nine, son. Isn't it a bit early?"
He explained that he had to be up at school at first bell. A geography notebook had been left in his desk, and entries must be made in it before the class began. He was gathering his scattered belongings together in the hall when the maternal voice called him back to the kitchen.
"Yes, Mother?" with his head in the doorway.
"Will you ever learn to shut a drawer when you're through with it?"
He shoved it back with a sulky bang. "Where's my hat?"
"Did you look in the front hall?"