“Huh!” snuggest Hon. Mrs. with Huerta expression. “Togo, go immediately upwards to Mabel Dear’s room and deliver complete breakfast to door.”
“Togo,” depose Hon. Mr. looking clamly cruel, “go immediately upward to Mabel Dear’s room and make knock-knock to door. When Mabel Dear answer say so, ‘Your Rev. Father demand you get upward at oncely and help wash-dish and other healthful exercise.”
I go. I do so. When Mabel Dear hear knock-knock she poke forth girlish cap and decry, “What for, imported heathenish?”
“Your Royal & Exalted Up Hon. Father require you make immediate get up for wash dish and be natural like ancestors,” I commit.
She shreech. Slam door. Downstairs I could hear similar warcry while sounds of smelling salts, hysteria, etc. could be heard from dining room.
Eloping to window I could observe Hon. Mr. evaporating down path in depot direction.
“Togo!” voice of Mrs. from down there.
I make no correspondence to her tone.
“Togo, will you come downward or shall you be thrown?”
Still I conceal my words. Ring-ring by telephone could be distinctually heard.