"We'll get there, never you fret!" Bert answered vaguely. But long
after he was asleep his wife lay awake in the hot hotel bedroom,
and thought darkly of fate. She came of gentle stock, and she
would meet her lot bravely, but oh, how she longed for ease, for a
little luxury, for coolness and darkness and silence and service,
for frothy laces and the touch of silk!

Lights came up from the lawn before the hotel. It was Sunday
night, and the young people were making the most of the precious
week-end. Nancy heard a clock somewhere strike ten, and then the
single stroke for the half-hour. She got up and sat beside the
window; the night was insufferably close, with not a breath of
air.

Junior sighed; his mother arose, stricken, and lighted a shaded
lamp. Half-past-ten and she had forgotten his bottle!

When she carried it over to him, he was wide awake, his face
sober, his aureole of bright hair damp with the heat. But at the
sight of his playfellow his four new teeth came suddenly into
sight. Here was "Mugger," the unfailing solace and cheer of his
life. He gave her a beatific smile, and seized the bottle with a
rapturous "glug." Bert was roused by her laughter, and the soft
sound of kisses.




Chapter Nine