“Oh, Della,” cried Peggy Pierce, “would you mind postponing the lecture until after we have our lunch? I’m positively famished.”
“So am I,” Rosamond declared.
“Well, since we’re hungry, suppose we eat,” said the practical Bertha.
“Hurrah for our treasurer!” cried Betty Burd, springing up and dancing toward the little red cart with a sprightliness which did not suggest weariness of bones. Then, climbing up, she handed out the seven baskets, and soon a tempting repast was spread on the paper table-cloth which Rosamond had brought.
“Did ever sandwiches taste so good before?” muttered Peggy Pierce, with a mouth full of bread and cold chicken.
“Who said olives?” asked Adele, as she sighted a little pile in front of Rosamond.
“Pardon me for not passing them sooner,” Rosamond exclaimed, with elaborate politeness as she lifted the paper napkin on which they were heaped, but, this being moist, the olives fell through and rolled about on the table-cloth.
“Grabbing isn’t manners!” Doris Drexel called, as Betty Burd pounced upon one.
“There are two olives apiece,” said Rosamond, “so you might as well grab that many if you wish.”
“I did have a chocolate cup-cake apiece for us,” moaned Adele, “but that brother Jack of mine came out into the kitchen, and, without as much as saying ‘by your leave,’ he ate the biggest, and when I went back to the jar for more, nary a one was left.”