“She hasn’t but two days more,” said Jack meditatively. “Of course—even if she was all chipper—this storm has knocked any picnic endways.”
“I am not an ardent upholder of picnics, anyhow,” said Mitchell. “They require a constant sitting down on the ground and getting up from the ground to which I find our respected aunt very far from being equal. Burnett mentioned that we should go to the scene on a coach. That also did not meet my approval. Going anywhere on a coach requires a constant getting up on the coach and getting down from the coach to which I also consider the lady unequal. The events of yesterday have left a deep impression on my mind. I—”
“Go on and carve,” interrupted Clover, “or else shove me the platter. I’m hungry.”
“So’m I,” said a voice at the door. A weak voice—but one that showed decision in its tone.
They looked up and saw Burnett, dressed in a pink silk negligée with flowing sleeves.
“I’m ravenous,” he exclaimed explanatorily. “I haven’t had anything since day before yesterday at breakfast. I didn’t know I wanted anything till I smelt it,—then I dressed and came down.”
“How sweet you look,” said Clover. “The effect of your pajama cuffs and collar where one greedily expects curves and contour is lovely. Where did you find that bath-robe?”
“In the bureau drawer,” said Burnett. “It appeared to have been hastily shoved in there some time. I would have thought that it was a woman’s something-or-other, only I found one of Jack’s cards in the pocket.”
They all began to laugh—Clover and Mitchell more heartily than the owner of the card.
“Sit down,” said Mitchell finally with great cordiality. “You may as well sit down while they mess you up some weak tea and wet toast.”