"Ice-cream," said Jean, "with hot chocolate sauce."
"Bring me," said Mabel, turning to the waiter, "hot mince pie, ice-cream with hot chocolate sauce and a pineapple ice with little cakes."
"Bring little cakes for everybody," added Mr. Black.
"I declare," said Mrs. Crane, "I don't know when I've been so hungry."
"Now," remarked Mr. Black, half an hour later, "I think we'd better be jogging along toward home because it won't be as warm when the sun goes down and I want to show you some of the sights in Bancroft—there's a pretty good candy shop a few blocks from here—before we start toward Lakeville. We can run down in about an hour."
"Peter," demanded Mrs. Crane, "what is that speed limit?"
"About eight miles an hour."
"Hum—and it's seventeen miles——"
"Now, Sarah, don't go to doing arithmetic—you know you were never very good at it. If I were to keep strictly within that limit you'd all want to get out and push. Got all your wraps? Whose muff is this? Here's a glove. Whose neck belongs to this pussy-cat thing? Here's a handkerchief and two more gloves—Well, well! It's a good thing you had somebody along to gather up your duds. What! My hat? Why, that's so, I did have a cap—here it is in my coat pocket."