Eagerly the basket was seized by the hungry men and loud was their shout of joy over the can of ice-cold buttermilk.
“You’ll find a note inside explaining how you can phone me if you want extras,” called Judith. “See you to-morrow at the same time. Be sure and bring back my basket and dishes.”
The trolley moved off, leaving the house party grouped at one end of the platform, Judith and Jeff at the other. It was plain that something was vexing Mildred and the smart young 87 beauty by her side. Jeff, however, was perfectly unconscious of being the cause of their annoyance.
“Thank you ever so much,” said Judith. “You are a grand assistant to the chief cook.”
“I am delighted to have helped you, but please tell me what on earth you mean by bringing food to motormen.”
“Mean? Why, it’s my business. I am caterer-in-ordinary to the six-thirty trolley and perhaps others,” she laughed and looked him squarely in the eyes. For a moment, in spite of the persistent demand from Mildred for him to hurry, Jeff gazed into hers. He flushed a little and then with a hurried good-bye joined his sisters and their guests.
Mildred managed to have Jean Roland occupy the front seat by the driver. Jean was pretty, well-dressed and no doubt was fascinating. Jeff remembered he was supposed to fall in love with her at first sight. Therefore he looked at her critically. She was all Mildred had promised, but Jeff found himself gazing over the head of his companion at a slender figure in blue gingham, disappearing over the hill.
It was a distinct annoyance to him that Tom Harbison should lean far out of the back of the 88 car and wave his forty-dollar panama hat at Judith Buck’s retreating figure, and even a greater annoyance that Judith should turn around when she got to the brow of the hill and see the fine hat doing obeisance to her.