“Secret,” answered Ted. “An’ anyhow, it isn’t for girls.” This was said in a pay-you-back manner that Nancy quickly challenged.
“Oh, all right. Very well. Just as you say, keep it secret if you like,” she taunted, “but I’ve got a real one.” The potatoes were burning but neither of the children seemed to care.
Ted looked closely at his sister and was convinced. She really was serious. Then too, everything was on end, no dinner ready, nothing done, the place all boxes, just as they were when he left. Something must have been going on all morning, reasoned Ted.
“Good thing mother didn’t come home, Sis,” he remarked amicably. “Say, how about—chow?”
“Chow?”
“Yes. Don’t you know that means food in the military, and I’m as starved as a bear.”
“Well, why don’t you get something to eat? I understood we were to camp, share and share alike,” Nancy reminded him, giving the simmering potatoes a shake that sent the little pot-cover flying to the floor.
“That was your idea. But mother said you had to be sure we ate our meals,” contended Ted. “I’ll get the meat. It’s meat balls, isn’t it?”
“It will be, I suppose, when I make them,” said Nancy, deliberately shoving everything from one end of the table with a sweep that rattled together dishes, glasses and various other breakable articles.
There was no doubt about it, Nancy Brandon did hate housework. Every thing she did was done with that degree of scorn absolutely fatal to the result. Perhaps this was just why her mother was allowing her to try out the pet summer scheme.