Explore "Alice Adams" by Booth Tarkington on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Alice kept her sprightly chatter going when they sat down, though the temperature of the room and the sight of hot soup might have discouraged a less determined gayety. Moreover, there were details as unpropitious as the heat: the expiring roses expressed not beauty but pathos, and what faint odour they exhaled was no rival to the lusty emanations of the Brussels sprouts; at the head of the table, Adams, sitting low in his chair, appeared to be unable to flatten the uprising wave of his starched bosom; and Gertrude's manner and expression were of a recognizable hostility during the long period of vain waiting for the cups of soup to be emptied. Only Mrs. Adams made any progress in this direction; the others merely feinting, now and then lifting their spoons as if they intended to do something with them.
Alice's talk was little more than cheerful sound, but, to fill a desolate interval, served its purpose; and her mother supported her with ever-faithful cooings of applausive laughter. "What a funny thing weather is! " the girl ran on. "Yesterday it was cool -- angels had charge of it -- and today they had an engagement somewhere else, so the devil saw his chance and started to move the equator to the North Pole; but by the time he got halfway, he thought of something else he wanted to do, and went off; and left the equator here, right on top of us! I wish he'd come back and get it!"