Thomas, Dorothy, The Saturday Evening Post
Mrs. Joseph Barton woke at two minutes of seven and at once sat bolt upright in bed, like a woman who has set her mind and heart, like a clock, on waking at a certain time because she has something special planned.
Only moments later her husband woke and squinted sleepily at her where she stood, across the room from the bed, and said, "Say, am I seeing things, or are you going through my pockets?"
Mrs. Barton laughed and blushed a little. "I am," she said, "or I was, rather. These pants are going to the cleaner's. You said, 'Aw, I've already got them on,' the last time. Your stuff's right here." She dropped some coins, a key ring and a jackknife into a tray on the dresser. Some empty chewing-gum wrappers she tossed into the waste-basket.
"All right," Mr. Barton said. "I'm not wearing them anyhow. I'm wearing my golf pants. Don't you know what day this is? This is Sunday, Sally."
"I know it," Mrs. Barton said, "and I'm glad it's here. It's a lovely day, too. Lovely." She swung up from a third "fingers-touch-toes" to pant the second "Lovely." Her cheeks were very pink. Mr. Barton would likely have remarked on her pink cheeks and her general good looks had he been watching her, but he had already shut his eyes again for a last 40 winks.
Dressed, Mrs. Barton went to her sons' room. It was a habit with her to look on the boys and on Sara Louise, too, before going down to get breakfast. They were both sleeping so soundly that they did not hear her: Dick with one hand resting, palm up, on the floor, like an idler in a boat, Sally thought, and Davie lying biasly in his wide bed, his lean, tanned arms and legs outflung, as though he might have been dropped from a height. Almost soundlessly Sally picked up some of their clothes and hung them in their wardrobe. She lowered the blind so that the sun would not shine on Dick's handsome forehead and went out quietly into her girl's room.
Sara Louise was sleeping curled in a ball, like a creature hibernated, her rather long, yellow bob making a blurred halo round her head on the pillow. All that she had had on the night before made a larger and still more indefinite halo round the place where she had stood for her 2 a.m. undressing.
As quietly as she had picked up her sons' clothes, Mrs. Barton gathered up Sara Louise' stockings, panties, slip, shoes, dress and pocketbook. It was the click of the pocketbook fastener that woke Sara Louise and made her say without opening her eyes, "That you, mother? Will you turn off the light, please? It's right in my eyes."
"It's not the light, dear, it's the sun. I'll draw the blind."
"Um, thanks," Sara Louise murmured, and she curled, the ball she was, a little tighter.
Mrs. Barton went downstairs and out to the kitchen. "I'll make waffles," she said, and she brought the crock she used for waffle batter from the pantry and eggs and milk from the refrigerator. While she worked she hummed.
She spread a cloth and set five places in the breakfast porch. Waffles were best, of course, straight from the waffle iron, but Davie, who ate most, was grateful for numbers and was always pleased when he came down to find three or four baked and ready for him. When she had three waffles made, she began to call the family to wake up and to get downstairs. "Breakfast!" she shouted. "Waffles!"
They would know it was first come, first served. Mr. Barton was first. "Well, Sally, waffles?" he said.
"Yes," Mrs. Barton replied. "Will you have some of Davie's, or will you wait for the next one? It's all but ready."
"I'll wait, my dear. Did you bring in the paper? Ah!" Mr. Barton saw that Sally had brought in the paper and put it by his plate. He was highly pleased with himself to be up before either of the boys; to have the paper, fresh and unfolded, before family hand had touched it.
"Here's your waffle, Joe," Sally Barton said. …