Mavis was almost too bewildered to ask any questions, and obeyed. There was a tiny gate dividing their balcony from the next, and she went through. “Uncle John,” she called softly.
Sir John, Alan, and Masters appeared at the window of the next room.
“You’re awake then?” laughed Alan.
“Yes.”
“Have you had any food?” asked Desmond.
Alan laughed. “A table each—and chock full. Shall we wheel ours along and all have it together?” In a trice the six were sitting down to the first real meal they had had since they had so miraculously escaped from the end of the world.
The tables were of different coloured glass, and were laden with food very different from that to which they had been accustomed. There were jugs full of steaming liquid, neither tea, coffee, nor cocoa, but with a reminiscent flavour of all three, and extremely refreshing. There were wines—fruits whole, and fruits compote. There were cereals served almost like porridge, and there was bread too. Bread and tiny, crisp rolls, biscuits sweet and biscuits plain, and pats of golden butter. It was a delightful meal, refreshing, invigorating, and so different from the stodgy, unwholesome tinned meats they had been living on for so long. There was also a tiny tray for the baby—a bowl of fresh new milk and some rusks. A plate of a kind of arrowroot mixture was greatly appreciated by little John Alan, who cried out “More—pese, mum, more.”
“The little beggar likes it,” said Sir John. “He appreciates the change too. Well, here we are all on land again at last, and among friends.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Mavis.
“We’ll throw ourselves on the mercy of the Jovians of course; make up our minds to settle down in a new world, and live the remainder of our lives in peace and contentment.”