The general, with rare nerve, took a bite from the sandwich and laid it on the table. He drew his handkerchief and wiped his hands. "I will get the blue book," he began busily, his mouth still rather full.
"We don't need the blue book to tell us to get out," said Henrietta, a bit tartly. She looked at the dainty pile of sandwiches, the cold chicken, cakes and olives on the table with the wooden plates and gay paper napkins she had arranged for the coming feast and hesitated. She wished some one was courageous enough to suggest that they eat before they leave.
"Certainly not," said the general. "But if we had consulted them before we left—"
"Sort of in the fashion of an oracle," sneered Henrietta as she began slowly to gather up the napkins and the wooden plates.
"Tell me," said Bartlett calmly, impersonally, not as one desiring an argument, but simply as a humble seeker after knowledge, with no prior views on the subject, "tell me, can you never make a mistake if you have a blue book?"
"No," said Henrietta, "never. With the blue book one could go directly to Heaven. It would be impossible not to."
Billy laughed.
"Billy would laugh at her funeral," said Bartlett coldly.
"We haven't anything to cry about," said the Watermelon, frankly unconcerned. "It's for the man who owns the house to do the crying."
"How did we get here?" demanded the general, as Alphonse went to get the blue book, for the general could no longer be gainsaid in his desire for his book. "Is this where the Higgins' home should be?"