“Good morning, Frank.”
“You didn’t care to say good night,” said Frank in a very gruff voice mingled with a good deal of rattling at the lock of the door from the inside.
“O, Frank, you know I couldn’t. Papa told me not to speak to you last night; but Grandma Dobson is real sorry for you. She gave me some seed cakes. Want one?”
“No! not for breakfast. I say, what did you have downstairs?”
“I haven’t been to breakfast yet, but I know there is griddle cakes. I smell them.”
“Fetch me some.”
“Wish I could.”
“Do it then.”
“The door is locked. Can’t put them through the keyhole.”
“The window isn’t locked. Toss them up. I’ll catch, first-rate.”