There
was something particularly reassuring about that plate of nicely matched
triangles of buttered toast. It spoke of a sane and orderly world where
you were never taken off your feet.
"How many lumps?" demanded the pouring flapper.
"Just as you like; I'm not fussy," he answered.
This was untrue. His preference in the matter was decided, but he could
not remember what it was. Afterward he knew that he did not take sugar
in his tea, but the flapper had sweetened it with three lumps. Grandma
again addressed him, engaging his difficult attention with a brandished
fragment of toast.
"I can't imagine how you were ever mad enough to think of it," she said,
"but you were. I give you credit for that. And just let me tell you that
you've won a treasure. Of course, I don't say you won't find her
difficult now and then, but you mustn't be too overbearing; give in a
bit now and then; 't won't hurt you. Remember she's got a will of her
own, as well as you have. Don't try to ride rough-shod--"
"Oh, we've settled all _that_," broke in the flapper. "Haven't we?"
"We've settled all that," said Bean, grateful for the solid feel of a
cup in his fingers.
"Don't be too domineering, that's all," warned the Demon. "She wouldn't
put up with it."
"I understand all _that_," insisted Bean, resolutely seizing a fork for
which he had no use. "I can look ahead!"
He began hurriedly to eat toast, hoping it would seem that he had more
to say but was too hungry to say it.
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