"Hicks," Mr. Stott added.
"Just take a second longer and say 'Mister.'"
The cook eyed him in such a fashion as he administered the reprimand for his familiarity that Mr. Stott backed off without mentioning his starving condition.
"What did he say?" they asked, eagerly, as he sat down on his platform, somewhat crestfallen.
"He seems a temperamental person," Mr. Stott replied, evasively. "But we shall have breakfast in due season."
It was suspected that Mr. Stott had failed in his mission, and they were sure of it as the hands dragged around to eight-thirty.
At that hour precisely Mr. Hicks came out and hammered on a triangle as vigorously as if it were necessary. In spite of their efforts to appear unconcerned when it jangled, the haste of the guests was nothing less than indecent as they hurried to the dining room and scrambled for seats at the table.
The promise of food raised their spirits a trifle and Mr. Appel was able to say humorously as, with his table knife, he scalped his agate-ware plate loose from the oil-cloth:
"I suppose we shall soon learn the customs of the country. In a month we should all be fairly well ac'climated."
"Acclim'ated," Mr. Stott corrected.