Nan willingly agreed, and the plate was further depleted by two.
Still the girls came not.
“It’s ridiculous,” said Nan, in a hesitating way, “to serve ten fritters to eight people. One apiece seems so much more reasonable.”
“It does,” said Marguerite, solemnly nodding her pretty head. “Let us so arrange matters that eight shall be served.”
Whereupon the cooks appropriated one more fritter apiece, and declared that they really increased in deliciousness. Then they sat and wondered why the girls didn’t come.
“It’s just half-past,” said Nan; “I supposed they’d be here howling before this.”
“Do you know,” said Marguerite, “I don’t feel like waiting, and I don’t believe they’d care if we—you and I, I mean—ate our two fritters now. They’re so much better hot.”
“We’ll do it,” said Nan; “two of them are ours, of course.”
So two more of Rosie’s fritters had just disappeared when a barking announced the approach of the cavalcade.
“Supper ready?” cried Betty, as they all trooped in.