"If you're going to get breakfast, hadn't you better hurry and take your bath?"
"That's so," he admitted. Shuffling briskly to the bathroom, he was soon foaming at the mouth with tooth-paste.
There was a loud buzzing sound from the direction of the kitchen.
"Henry!" called Mrs. Brush, "there goes the dumb-waiter. Shall I answer it?"
"No; I'll ho," he replied pastily out of the corner of his mouth. Still busily agitating his tooth-brush, so as not to waste any time, he paddled to the dumb-waiter and called: "He'o! Whash you wa'?"
"Garbage!" replied a gruff voice. A rattling of ropes announced that the car was on its way.
Mr. Brush opened the "sanitary garbage closet," and, screwing up his face and tooth-brush, seized something that was mighty unlike a rose. He held the pail out at arm's-length as he carried it to the dumb-waiter.
Buzz, buzz, buzz, went the buzzer.
"Huh?" gurgled Mr. Brush, nervously swallowing a generous amount of tooth-paste.