"I don't know your mother," said the Weld girl.
"Thasso," absent-mindedly, from Chug.
"I'd—like to."
Chug woke up. "Why, say, that'd be fine! Listen, why don't you come for Sunday dinner. I've got a hunch we'll shove off next week, and this'll be my last meal away from camp. They haven't said so, but I don't know—maybe you wouldn't want to, though. Maybe you—we live the other side of the tracks—"
"I'd love to," said the Weld girl. "If you think your mother would like to have me."
"Would she! And cook! Say!"
The Widow Weld made a frightful fuss. Said that patriotism was all right, but that there were limits. Betty put on her organdie and went.
It began with cream soup and ended with shortcake. Even Chug realized that his mother had outdone herself. After his second helping of shortcake he leaned back and said, "Death, where is thy sting?" But his mother refused to laugh at that. She couldn't resist telling Miss Weld that it was plain food but that she hoped she'd enjoyed it.
Elizabeth Weld leaned forward. "Mrs. Scaritt, it's the best dinner I've ever eaten."
Mrs. Scaritt flushed a little, but protested, politely: "Oh, now! You folks up in the East End—"