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Monday morning is always the worst morning of the week. Everybody is sleepy; everybody seems tired after having two days' rest; everybody is bad-tempered; everybody is in a hurry. Last Monday was even worse than usual.

“Hurry up, Dick!" father shouted as he banged on the bathroom door.“I've got a train to catch!"“I'm shaving," Dick answered.“I'll be out in a minute."

“Breakfast's ready," mother called from the kitchen. As she got no reply, she came upstairs to see what was going on.“ Where's David?" she asked.“Is he still in bed?" She knocked at the bedroom door loudly. “You'd better get up at once, David, or you'll be late for school," she called.“It's a quarter to eight. Your breakfast is getting cold!"

“I don't feel like any breakfast," David mumbled.“T'll have another five minutes'leep instead."1Mother was about to go into his room and drag him out of bed when the doorbell rang. She hurried downstairs to open the door. It was the postman.

“Good morning, Mrs. Craft," he said cheerfully. "I's a lovely day, isn't it?"

“You wouldn't think so if you lived here," mother answered.“On Mondays this place is like a madhouse.