“What’ll you do?” asked Tommy and Bouncer in a breath.
“It’s the pantry for mine!” announced the Texan. “I’ll ensconce myself in the pantry where I can take in the doings.”
“Maggie has an old couch down there that she rests on when she’s very tired,” grinned Tucker. “I speak for a snug berth beneath that couch.”
“But where can I conceal my slight and sylphlike form?” asked Bigelow. “Say, Buckhart, you ought to let me have the pantry.”
“Then where would I fit in?”
“The sink,” cried Bigelow; “you can get under the sink.”
“Aw, no, that won’t do,” protested Brad. “Think of me hiding under a sink! Great horn spoon!”
“But you’re selfish,” declared Bouncer. “Yes, you are selfish, Buckhart. I can’t get under the sink to save my neck—you can. I could hide in the pantry or the cold room. If you’re going to have the pantry, I’ll take the cold room.”
“I’ll see more of the fun than either one of you,” laughed Tucker. “Next to my chosen retreat beneath the couch, I’d choose the sink, for then I could keep the door open on a crack and watch everything that was going on.”
“This don’t seem to be a time for dignity,” said Brad, “so I’ll take the sink for mine. But, however are we going to get to our retreats, gents?”