“I may be going in that direction myself tomorrow,” said Miss Rutherford.
Priscilla got up and stepped across to the place where Frank was sitting. She stooped down and whispered to him. Then she returned to her own seat and winked at him, keeping her left eye closed for nearly half a minute, and screwing up the corresponding corner of her mouth.
“We hope,” said Frank, “that you’ll join us at luncheon tomorrow wherever we may meet. It’s our turn to bring the grub.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” said Miss Rutherford. “Shall I bring the stove?”
“I didn’t like to invite you,” said Priscilla, “until I found out whether Frank had any money to buy things with. As it turns out he has lots. I haven’t. That’s the reason I whispered to him, although I know it’s rude to whisper when there’s any one else there. Of course, I may be able to collar a few things out of the house; but I may not. With that Secretary of War staying in the house there is bound to be a lot of food lying about which nobody would notice much if it was gone. But then it’s not easy to get it unless you happen not to be allowed in to dinner, which may be the case. If I’m not—Frank, I’m afraid, is sure to be on account of his having a dress coat—but if I’m not, which is what may happen if Aunt Juliet thinks it would score off me not to, then I can get lots of things without difficulty because the cook can’t possibly tell whether they’ve been finished up in the dining-room or not.”
“We’ll hope for the best,” said Miss Rutherford. “A jelly now or a few meringues would certainly be a pleasant variety after the tinned and dried provisions of the last two days.”
The peppermint creams were finished before the second brew of soup came to the boil on the Primus stove. Priscilla poured it out. It was hot, of about the consistency usual in soup, and it smelt savoury. Nevertheless Miss Rutherford, after watching for an opportunity to do so unseen, poured hers out on the ground. Frank fingered his mug irresolutely and once took a sip. Priscilla, after looking at her share intently, carried it off and gave it to Jimmy Kinsella.
“It’s curious,” she said when she came back, “but I don’t feel nearly so keen on soup as I did. I daresay it’s the peaches and the peppermint creams. I used to think it was rather rot putting off the sweets at dinner until after the meaty things. Now, I know it isn’t. Sometimes there’s really a lot of sense in an arrangement which seems silly at first, which is one of the things which always makes me say that grownup people aren’t such fools as you might suppose if you didn’t really know.”
“We’ll remember that at lunch tomorrow,” said Miss Rutherford.
No one mentioned worms.