The dining room was just the same, all cool with the gleam of old silver, and rich with bichromate of potash rubbed into mahogany. The dinner began with due gravity, but presently Jean began to bubble.
“Oh, my aunt Susan, I love your fish chowder. This is the very first salt-water fish I ever did eat.”
“Don’t you ever make chowder?”
“Yes, whenever we have a big black bass.”
“Do the Indians bring you the bass?”
“No, we catch ’em ourselves. The biggest one we had this summer was caught by our boarder, Mr. Mahan.”
“Which Mr. Mahan?”
“Oh, his first name was Marvin. You don’t know him.”
“But we do!”
A telltale flush began to dawn on Jean’s cheeks. “Why, you see, Mr. Mahan came along and camped on my island this summer for five whole days.”