Explore "National Avenue" by Booth Tarkington on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Half an hour later he brought her a tray, a dainty one prepared by his mother, and set it upon a table close beside the bed.
"Here you are, dearie," he said gayly. "Jellied chicken, cold as ice, and iced tea and ice-cold salad. Not a thing hot except some nice crisp toast. You'll feel like running a footrace after you eat it, Lena!"