“Yes,” said Hester, abstractedly; “but couldn’t you come round again later? We’re—we haven’t decided yet what we do want.”
“Well, no, mum, I couldn’t call later—not to say later. I’ll be round again to deliver the goods, but not to take orders.”
“I’ll tell you what, Hester,” said Betty; “don’t order now, and after breakfast some of us can ride over on our wheels and leave the order in time for him to bring the things. Er—what shall I call you, sir?”
“Dan’l, mum.”
“Well, Daniel, we won’t give you any order now, but we’ll send it over to the store.”
“All right, mum”; and looking a little injured, the red-haired one shambled off.
“Now,” said Betty, “we must have breakfast first of all; and as I cooked most of the dinner last night, it isn’t my turn this morning. Marguerite’s the Matron of this establishment, and I think she ought to assume some responsibility.”
“So do I,” said Betty; “let’s go and read the Riot Act to her.”
“No,” said Hester; “let’s write a mandamus or habeas corpus or whatever they call it, and send it up to her by Rosie, and we’ll go for a spin on our wheels.”
Whisking a leaf off the order-pad, Betty wrote in large letters: