Wheeler, Janet D. / 2008-09-23 00:00:00


"I might as well eat," she thought resignedly, "for if I starve myself to
death or die of worry, there won't be anybody left to pay for that old
book worm."
Then her irrepressible imp of mischief reasserted itself and she laughed.
"Hello, look at the grand lady," a fresh young voice called to her from
the doorway. She turned with a spoon half way to her mouth to see her
brother laughing at her.
"What was that you called me?" she asked. As a matter of fact, her
thoughts had been so far away that she actually had not heard what he
said.
"Say, what's the matter?" asked Chet, flinging his tennis racket into one
chair and seating himself on the arm of another. "Are you sick?"
"Yes. Or if I'm not, I ought to be," replied Billie ruefully, at which
peculiar remark Chet looked still more amazed.
"Now what particular thing is worrying you?" he asked in an argumentative
tone, leaning toward her. "Come, 'fess up, Billie. What have you been
doing when my back was turned? Robbing a bank?"
"Oh, much worse than that!" cried Billie unexpectedly, and her brother's
good-looking face began to take on an expression of alarm.
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