“Say—but this tastes good!” sighed Ned, when they had drawn up their chairs, and the first spoonfuls had gone down.
“Um-m-m-m-m!” mumbled his two companions.
The stews disappeared; also, disappeared crackers and butter and pickles and celery. None of the boys ate pickles at home, but everything tastes good after a fifteen mile skate!
They pushed back their chairs, and sat a moment in silent contentment.
“Well, what do you say to starting?” yawned Hal, whom the warm soup and the close room were making sleepy. “Then we can take it easy.”
So they arose, and stiffly passed out.
“You boys come down from Beaufort, didn’t ye?” inquired the storekeeper, as each, with the air of a millionaire, planked his quarter down upon the glass cigar-case near the street door.
“Yes, sir,” responded Tom and Ned together.
“Wa-al, if you’re calculatin’ on skatin’ back I’d advise ye to be settin’ off,” drawled the storekeeper. “It’s gettin’ ready fer a big storm.”