CHAPTER IX
UPHEAVAL
"Forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one, fifty-two,
fifty-three,--for goodness' sake!--fifty-four, fifty-five." Carol
looked helplessly at her dusty hands and mopped her face desperately
with her forearm.
David, watching her from the bed in the adjoining room, gave way to
silent laughter, and she resumed her solemn count.
"Forty-six, forty--"
"Fifty-six," he called. "Don't try any trickery on me."
"Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty." She sighed
audibly. "Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three, sixty-four--sixty-four
perfectly fresh eggs," she announced, turning to the doorway and
frowning at her husband, who still laughed. "Sixty-four perfectly
fresh eggs, all laid yesterday."
"Now, I give you fair warning, my dear, I am no cold storage plant, and
you can't make me absorb any sixty-four egg-nogs daily just to even up
the demand with the supply. I drank seven yesterday, but this is too
much. You must seek another warehouse."
"You are very clever and facetious, Davie, really quite entertaining.
But what am I to do with sixty-four fresh eggs?"
"And I may as well confess frankly that I consider a minister's wife
distinctly out of her sphere when she tries to corner the fresh egg
market, particularly at the present price of existence.
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