"What has happened ?" "Nothing," he grunted, putting sugar on his porridge.
"But surely--" she began.
"Please don't bother me," he interrupted.

"I 'm late, and I want to eat my breakfast." And just then Mrs.Bronson caught Bessie's eye, and that young lady, still mystified, made haste to withdraw herself.
Joe was thankful to his mother for that, and thankful that she refrained from remarking upon his appearance.

Father had told her; that was one thing sure.

He could trust her not to worry him; it was never her way.
And, meditating in this way, he hurried through with his solitary breakfast, vaguely conscious in an uncomfortable way that his mother was fluttering anxiously about him.

Tender as she always was, he noticed that she kissed him with unusual tenderness as he started out with his books swinging at the end of a strap; and he also noticed, as he turned the corner, that she was still looking after him through the window.
But of more vital importance than that, to him, was his stiffness and soreness.