“Was there anything special requiring my attendance at this witching hour of the morn?”
“The lawn-mower,” said his sister, sharply.
“Ah, I thought it must be a telegram or a fire,—judging from your agonized voice.”
“If it had been a fire, you would have had to be roused! When you haven’t an earthly thing to do about the house, Jack, I do think that you might get up in time for breakfast.”
“You have some new theories since you began housekeeping. I have some faint recollections about your being the last man in the house to rise, a few weeks ago. I’m sorry, though, I overslept, Barb. I got up the minute you called.
I roused me from my slumbers,
I hied me from my bed.
If I had known what breakfast was,
I would have slept, instead.
Excuse me for turning up my trousers. The coffee seems to be somewhat muddy.”