I do not agree with that poet, A. J. Ryan,
date forgoten, who observed:
Better a day of strife
Than a Century of sleep.
Although naturaly no one wishes to sleep for a Century, or even
approxamately.
There was Strife in the house. The first way I noticed it, aside from
Hannah's anonamous remark, was by observing that Leila was mopeing. She
acted very strangely, giving me a pair of pink hoze without more than a
hint on my part, and not sending me out of the room when Carter Brooks
came in to tea the next day.
I had staid at home, fearing that if I went out I should purchace some
CREPE DE CHENE combinations I had been craving in a window, and besides
thinking it possable that Tom would drop in to renew our relations of
yesterday, not remembering that there was a Ball Game.
Mother having gone out to the Country Club, I put my hair on top of my
head, thus looking as adult as possable. Taking a new detective story of
Jane's under my arm, I descended the staircase to the library.
Sis was there, curled up in a chair, knitting for the soldiers. Having
forgoten the Ball Game, as I have stated, I asked her, in case I had a
caller, to go away, which, considering she has the house to herself all
winter, I considered not to much.
"A caller!" she said. "Since when have you been allowed to have
callers?"
I looked at her steadily.
"I am young," I observed, "and still in the school room, Leila. I admit
it, so don't argue. But as I have not taken the veil, and as this is
not a Penitentary, I darsav I can see my friends now and anon, especialy
when they live next door.
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