She must, however, gain something else first. Her wit must win what her physical force might not. She bided her time till evening.
Again the man came to her window with food. It proved to be another platter of ham and eggs, flanked this time with a pot of wretched tea.
“Goodness!” exclaimed Ruth, “is ham and eggs all you know how to cook? I shall be squealing, or clucking pretty soon. Is there nothing else to eat aboard?”
“Ain’t no cook, Miss,” the man said. “We’re all so busy, anyway, that we just have to get what we can quickly. I’m sorry,” for she had dropped another half-dollar into his palm.
“Is there nobody to cook for you hard-working men?” repeated Ruth briskly. “How many of you are there?”
“Eleven, Miss, counting Mr. Boldig.”
“Why, that’s not so many. And you feed Mr. Dowd and Mr. Rollife, of course?”
“They haven’t had as much as you, Miss. Mr. Boldig said they could stand a little fasting, anyway. We haven’t had any decent grub ourselves.”
“I could cook for you!” Ruth cried eagerly. “I’ll do it, too, if you men want me to. I’d rather do that than be shut up here all the time. And—then—I’d like a change from ham and eggs,” and she laughed.
“Yes, ma’am. I s’pected you would. But I don’t see——”