“It’s overhead, near the pillow,” her mother whispered. “Father and I are going into the club car.”
Judy, on her knees to avoid bumping her head, groped about vaguely, found the small button and pressed it hard. There was a resounding ring. She jumped at the sound and then, quite by accident, found the light switch. Cautiously, still on her knees, she began pulling off her sweater.
“What is it, Miss?” The kindly face of the porter peered at her.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” Judy said thickly, her sweater wedged over her nose and mouth. “I couldn’t find the light. But it’s all right now.”
“Ring whenever you need me.” He quickly withdrew his head. A battery of bells called him.
She finished undressing lying flat on her back, struggled into pajamas, and tossed her jumbled clothes in a heap at the foot of her berth.
“It’s six-thirty, Judy.” It was her mother speaking. “We want to get an early breakfast so that we can get seats in the Vista Dome.” Her mother was already dressed, when she could have slept through the morning, a luxury Minna loved but rarely enjoyed.
When Judy made her appearance, her mother looked at her. “Your hair!—You look as if you fell out of a grab bag.”
In the dressing room, overflowing with crying babies and their mothers, Judy made herself presentable. Once again they went through the lunging cars.
For Judy, the dinner of the night before hadn’t been much of a success. She flushed as she remembered the white rivulet of milk coursing down her new sweater.