bracing herself.

"I'll ring the bell if you like," I said, politely.

She gave one look at me and then rang the bell herself with a firm
hand.

"And I'll get behind you with a poker in One hand and a pitcher of hot
water in the other. Speak when you need either."

"You feel very funny when you don't have to do it yourself," she said,
witheringly.

"You'll never put it through. You'll back down and say 'please' before
you have finished," I said, and just then the maid knocked at the
door.

I never heard anything like it. My sister was superb. I doubt if
Bernhardt at her best ever inspired me with more awe. How that maid
flew around. How humble she was. How she apologized. And how, every
time my sister said, "Look sharp, now," the maid said, "Thank you." I
thought I should die. I was so much interested in the dramatic
possibilities of my cherished sister that when the door closed behind
the maid we simply looked at each other a moment, then simultaneously
made a bound for the bed, where we choked with laughter among the
pillows. Presently we sat up with flushed faces and rumpled hair. I
reached over and shook hands with her.

"How was that?" she asked.