Cream of mushroom soup bubbled in the pressure cooker in the kitchen, Yorkshire pudding gradually rose in the heat of the oven, and unfurled tea leaves floated in the freshly boiled kettle.
Mrs. Granger's culinary skills were almost on a par with her professional skills. A lavish, steaming lunch would soon be meeting the warm midday sunshine.
Mr. Granger had gone out unexpectedly-a neighbor had suddenly come knocking, saying that his child had a toothache so bad he was flopping about on the floor like a fish.
"Er..." Mr. Granger hesitated.
"It's all right. Please, go ahead," Brian told Mr. Granger, who was looking at him apologetically. "A decayed tooth really can hurt."
Although Brian had never had a cavity, he had seen a friend reduced to tears by toothache.
"Thank you. That's very kind of you," said Mr. Granger.
"Ah, you have an important guest? Oh, hello, sir. Sorry to interrupt your conversation-please forgive me. I'm really worried my son might jump out of the window-"
Only then did the neighbor notice Brian. He hastily apologized, then joked,
"And land right on the fishing rod of that angler who just walked past downstairs. If there were any sort of sweets hanging from it, my son would definitely take the bait."
The face of Brian's own neighbor naturally came to mind. He smiled and said, "Look on the bright side. Your son might become a famous high jumper someday."
"Then I'll be able to boast that I once pulled a champion high jumper's tooth." Mr. Granger cheerfully put on his coat, picked up his toolkit, and told his neighbor,
"But seriously, I expected that tooth of your son's to hold out until after Christmas. Unless he's been eating a lot of sweets lately."
"Absolutely not. We haven't bought him a