“I shall have to; but that will necessitate my leaving out my favorite verses and this thrilling anecdote, as well as one bit of pleasantry. There, now. Oh, dear, how late it is! I have been working over this thing for an hour, and I still have some other work to do. I hoped I shouldn’t have to go out again in the cold till I started for home, and I am too hungry to wait.”
“Suppose we have some luncheon here,” suggested Mr. Danforth. “I know a place where they have especially delectable meat-pies, and we can make some coffee or chocolate.”
“How?”
“You don’t suppose that I haven’t resources of which you never dreamed. Mrs. Bailey knows what this office can supply.” And he opened the door of a little cupboard. There were plates, cups and saucers, a can of chocolate, and one of coffee, disclosed.
“Fine!” exclaimed Persis. “But we shall have to have some milk.”
“Which is easily obtainable. Where is our little tin bucket? Off goes the boy, back comes the feast. Come, Mrs. Bailey.” And the bookkeeper came forward with a clean sheet of paper, which she spread upon the desk, setting forth the cups and saucers, a bag of loaf-sugar, a tin of biscuits, a jar of East India preserves, and a glass of club-house cheese.
“Oh,” cried Persis, “what an array of comestibles! That is my favorite word for something to eat, since I have taken up journalism. Here comes Jimmy with the pies. Will they be good cold?”
“We’ll warm them,” said Mr. Danforth.
“I don’t see how you are going to do it.”
“I’ll show you. We are not at the end of our resources. ‘Necessity is the mother of invention,’ you know.” And going into a back-room he returned with a long splint of wood, upon which the little pies were placed and held inside the big stove.