“Well, the exercise will do you good. But we’re hungry, and we don’t mind admitting it, Chunky, though the failing is more yours than ours. However, be that as it may——”
“Oh, you want me to open that,” and Bob smiled at his chums. “Well, here goes.”
With a hammer he attacked the box, while Ned and Jerry sat on chairs on the shady side of the automobile shed and looked on.
“Just a little roast turkey, with dressing on the side, and a stalk of celery for mine,” suggested Jerry.
“Too much like Thanksgiving,” commented Ned. “I’ll have lobster salad with plenty of mayonnaise and peppers.”
“All to the bill of fare,” was Bob’s murmured response. “There!” and he took off the last board. “How’s that?”
To the disappointed eyes of Jerry and Ned was revealed a small refrigerator of a new style, made especially for automobiles. It was new and—absolutely empty.
Ned and Jerry swallowed hard. They were really hungry, for they had worked all morning going over the big touring car, not even stopping for a full meal at noon, as Mrs. Slade was away and there was no one to insist that they should do so.
“Pretty nifty, eh? What?” asked Bob, looking up at his chums.
“Well, it’s all right in the abstract,” assented Jerry, “but in the concrete it’s a flat failure. We were looking for something good.”