“You’ve got sort of left me out,” observed Jones. “I suppose you think I don’t enjoy life, anyhow, and there’s no use in trying to amuse me.”
“Tell you what you can do,” cried Tommy.
“That’s kind, indeed.”
“You can help us out.”
“If Maggie ever catches you stowed around the kitchen, she’ll help you out.”
“You can call her upstairs for something, Jonesy, and give us a chance to sneak into the kitchen. Will you do it? Sure you will.”
“Oh, certainly!” grunted Blessed. “That’s all I’m good for. Work me, work me.”
“If you fellows want to be sure of seeing the sport,” smiled Dick, “don’t fail to have yourselves properly concealed in the kitchen by eight o’clock. I shall arrive within five or ten minutes after the hour. That’s settled now. You chaps skidoo. Yes, I mean it. Your room is preferable to your company for the next hour. I’ve got to study.”
According to the arrangement, Jones appeared at the kitchen door some five minutes before eight that evening, and requested Maggie Swazey to do him a little favor. He was studying hard, he said, and couldn’t spare the time to run out to the nearest stationery store for a couple of notebooks. Would she mind getting them for him?
The sight of a silver quarter in the way of emolument for her services quickly banished any sign of hesitation on Maggie’s part.