“I shall not eat them at all; I’ll just eat the buns, although they are stale ones.”
“Rather a poor dinner. I wonder if I couldn’t offer you something better. You have a long walk before you and if you don’t mind sharing a bachelor’s meal I’d be delighted to share it with you.”
Jack was nothing if not unconventional and the prospect of foregoing a solitary and rather unpalatable repast was a pleasant one, so she smiled her acquiescence.
“I’ve a little shack a few rods further,” the young man told her. “My name is Marcus Wells, Nota Bene, the boys call me. I hail from New York, at least that is my present abode, though I am a native of New Jersey. I am camping out for a season of summer sketching and just at present am lone and lorn, as my companion has taken it into his head to go off on a walking tour through the mountains. Therefore, Miss——” he paused. “I beg your pardon,” he said, flushing. “It doesn’t make any difference about the name. You are a damsel in distress. We will call you Carrotina Bunina, or, if you prefer it, Diana Piccola, little Diana, as you seem to be a huntress. How is that?”
“Oh, Diana, please. I don’t like to be named after vegetables.” Jack was quite ready for all this kind of nonsense; it was just the way Nan carried on, she thought.
“Well, my fair Diana,” the young man continued, “don’t disturb me for a moment while I run over in my mind the contents of my larder.” He marched on silently for a few minutes, lips pursed up and frowning brow. “Yes,” he said after a time, “I think we can make out. Can you cook?”
“A little.”
“On a chafing-dish? We have one. Pinch generally does the cooking. I call him Pinch because he is always saying, ‘Just a pinch more of salt or of pepper’ or whatever it may be. He is very particular, is Pinch, and is a dabster at cooking. If he were here we’d have some Jim Dandy pancakes, but as it is, our menu must be: eggs done in a chafing-dish, if you can do them, potted ham, chicken or tongue or sardines, canned baked beans, if you care for them, ginger ale or coffee, crackers and cheese, and for dessert your buns and marmalade. Does that please the dainty palate of Lady Diana?”
“I think it’s fine,” responded Jack. “I can do the eggs. I can scramble eggs very nicely, if you have butter.”
“Oh, there’s butter and milk, too, if you need it. Then let us his us to the lodge in the wilderness, for in sooth I feel a craving for sustenance, lady. This poor body of mine has long been denied food. Yet, do not haste thee, sweet lady, or thy feet may become entangled in the wild waywardness of the grape which ambushes our way.”