“Better not. If you do, you will miss a good dinner. Mother Jess said I might try it. Boiled potatoes and baked fish—she showed me how to fix that—and corn and things. There’s one other dish on my menu that I’m not going to tell 201 you.” And all her dimples came into play.
“H’m!” said Stannard, “we feel pretty smart, don’t we? Well, maybe I’ll stay and see how it pans out. A fellow can always tighten his belt, you know.”
“Aren’t you horrid!” She made up a face at him, a captivating little grimace that wrinkled her nose and set imps of mischief dancing in her eyes.
Stannard watched her as with firm motions she stripped the husks from the corn, picking off the clinging strands of silk daintily.
“Gee, Elliott!” he exclaimed. “Do you know, you’re prettier than ever!”
She dropped him a courtesy. “I must be, with a smooch of flour on my nose and my hair every which way.”
He grinned. “That’s a story. Your hair looks as though Madame What-’s-her-name, that you and Mater and the girls go to so much, had just got through 202 with you. I’ve never seen you when you didn’t look as though you had come out of a bandbox.”
“Haven’t you? Think again, Stan, think again! What about your Cousin Elliott in a corn-field?”
Stannard slapped his thigh. “That’s so, too! I forgot that. But your hair’s all to the good, even then.”
“Stan,” warned Elliott, “you’d better be careful. You will get in too deep to wade out, if you don’t watch your step. What are you getting at, anyway? Why all these compliments?”