“Yes,” said Philip; “that’s about the way to look at it.”
“Well, then,” said Susan, “there’s your breakfast.”
And she marched out of the room.
Philip sat down to the table, but he was still thinking so hard that he scarcely knew what he ate or drank. When he had about half finished his meal he heard a shout outside. He jumped up from the table and ran to the window. Standing in the roadway, in front of the house, he saw Chap Webster, who had just sent forth another shout. Phil ran out on the great stone porch.
“Hello, Chap!” he cried. “Come up here and wait till I have finished my breakfast.”
“Finished your breakfast!” exclaimed his companion. “Why, I thought we were going to make an early start! I didn’t half finish mine.”
“I’m sorry for that,” said Phil; “but just sit down here, and I’ll be out directly.”
If Philip had been the grown-up gentleman which he was sure to be if he lived long enough, he would have asked his friend in to finish his breakfast with him; but he was a boy, and did not think of it.
There was nothing mean about him, however; he stopped eating before he was half done, so as not to keep Chap waiting.
Chap Webster was a long-legged boy, a little older than Philip. He had light hair, and what some of his friends called a buckwheat-cake face,—that is, it was very brown and a good deal freckled. He did not sit down at all, but stalked up and down the porch until Phil came out.