P.G. Wodehouse.
1
MR. JACKSON MAKES UP HIS MIND
If Mike had been in time for breakfast that fatal Easter morning he
might have gathered from the expression on his father's face, as Mr.
Jackson opened the envelope containing his school report and read the
contents, that the document in question was not exactly a paean of
praise from beginning to end. But he was late, as usual. Mike always was
late for breakfast in the holidays.
When he came down on this particular morning, the meal was nearly over.
Mr. Jackson had disappeared, taking his correspondence with him; Mrs.
Jackson had gone into the kitchen, and when Mike appeared the thing had
resolved itself into a mere vulgar brawl between Phyllis and Ella for
the jam, while Marjory, recently affecting a grown-up air, looked on in
a detached sort of way, as if these juvenile gambols distressed her.
"Hello, Mike," she said, jumping up as he entered, "here you are--I've
been keeping everything hot for you."
"Have you? Thanks awfully. I say ..." His eye wandered in mild surprise
round the table. "I'm a bit late."
Marjory was bustling about, fetching and carrying for Mike, as she
always did.
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