"Yes, John?"
"I'm hu-u-ngry."
"Lie still. I'll be up with your dinner in a few moments."
He hoped it would be something good. Beefsteak and mashed potatoes and peas would be about right. Omelet would do, if there were enough. He could devour the house, he felt so ravenous.
Shortly his mother appeared with the big brown tray, drew up a straight-backed chair to the bed, and lowered the feast to it before his expectant eyes.
"Milk toast!" disgustedly.
"Why not?"
