“Yes, it’s warm, but what are you going to do about it, Miss? We’re crossing the desert, you see, and didn’t think to take along any good cool air for you to breathe.”
“Kirke, Kirke, no teasing,” said the mother from her seat in front of them where she sat with her bonnet on, entertaining Donald. “Weezy means to be a good girl to-day, I hope, and not to fret at what can’t be helped.”
“But I’m so sticky, mamma, and so dusty,” murmured the little girl when she stood upon the floor.
“Yes, dear, so was I before I bathed. Look at Kirke.”
After one glance, Weezy forgot her grievances and laughed outright, for dark rings of dirt had settled under her brother’s eyes and a speck of soot upon the tip of his nose.
“The rest of us are ready for breakfast, Kirke, and you must hurry to make yourself presentable. The conductor says we eat at the next station.”
Concealing his grimy face behind his pocket-handkerchief, Kirke rushed past the seated passengers to the men’s toilet-room, while Weezy hastened to that of the women, where Molly assisted her in dressing. To comb Weezy’s fine, fluffy hair was never an easy task, as she seldom stood still half a minute at a time. To-day it was peculiarly trying, because the motion of the train jolted her about even when she would have been quiet.
“Oh, oh, Molly, you are most pulling my head off!” she wailed, at a sudden lurch of the car that tangled her ringlets into the comb.
Whereupon, Molly nervously set about repairing the mischief, declaring she was sorry, and hadn’t meant to hurt Weezy.
Which of the sisters suffered the more before the toilet was made, it were difficult to tell; but I rather think it was Molly; and I suspect that Molly told Pauline she did “hope the nurse-girl from New York would take it upon herself to attend to that child’s hair.”