Tom, who had been upstairs washing the last of the ink from his hands, entered the kitchen.
“Supper about ready?” he asked. “I’m mighty hungry tonight.”
“All ready,” smiled his mother. “I’ll call your father.”
Helen turned on the lights in the dining room and they waited for their father to come from his bedroom. They could hear low voices for several minutes and finally Mrs. Blair returned to the dining room.
“We’ll go ahead and eat,” she managed to smile. “Your father doesn’t feel like supper right now.”
Tom started to say something, but Helen shook her head and they sat down and started their evening meal.
Mrs. Blair, usually gay and interested in the activities of the day, had little to say, but Helen talked of school and the activities and plans of the sophomore class.
“We’re going to have a picnic down the lake next Monday,” she said.
“That’s nothing,” said Tom, who was president of the junior class. “We’re giving the seniors the finest banquet they’ve ever had.”
Whereupon they fell into a heated argument over the merits of the sophomores and juniors, a question which had been debated all year without a definite decision. Sometimes Tom considered himself the victor while on other occasions Helen had the best of the argument.