“I wish it were clam chowder instead of lobster,” said Mabel as they sat down, “for then we could ask Mr. Clayton to have supper with us and see if he likes the kind of chowder we have.”
“As if any one could possibly not like our kind; it’s the best ever,” retorted Ellen. “You can ask him for some other time; he won’t melt away.”
“How do I know what he will or won’t do? If he stayed to-night, in common decency he’d have to come back.”
“Then why not ask him to stay?” Miss Rindy spoke up. “I suppose he might put up with lobsters; they are not usually despised, and there is an abundance for all, your young friend, too, Ellen. It will be mighty handy to have them open that box.”
The upshot of the matter was that when the young men returned with the mail they were urged to stay, the supper was supplemented by various supplies which the shoppers had brought from Portland, and all went merry as the traditional marriage bell. Miss Rindy promised to make chowder for them if they would supply the clams, and this offer brought forth an invitation to come to the studio and partake of a supper when the chowder should be the center of the feast.
“I don’t suppose you have a place to cook it, or anything to cook it in,” scoffed Miss Rindy.
“We have an excellent oil stove, a large iron pot, and various other utensils,” Reed boasted. “Suppose you all make a preliminary visit and take account of stock.”
“And if anything is lacking, I can borrow it from my cousin,” Tom remarked.
“Or, if the supply isn’t equal to the demand, we can bring our own dishes from here,” promised Mabel.
“It’s a pretty long walk for an old limp-it like me,” objected Miss Rindy.