“How you feelin’?” were Buck’s first words.
“I guess you needed a bracer worse than I did,” answered Ned.
“Gettin’ scared don’t hurt. I’m all right.”
The embarrassed young men faced each other a few moments in silence.
“There’s pea soup and hot crackers, hot pork and beans, steamed frankfurters with rye bread and pickles, orange marmalade and some o’ them fancy preserved pears, hot plum puddin’, coffee, and strawberries. How’ll that do?” exclaimed Buck wiping his perspiring forehead with a black looking handkerchief. “Bob says I ought ’a’ cut out the puddin’ but I put that in for myself.”
“Where are we goin’ to eat it?” roared Ned.
“You got to come down here near the stove. That’ll be best,” suggested Buck. “There’s chairs and a foldin’ table right there in the store room. Ain’t no way to get these hot things up stairs or I’d ’a’ rigged up a spread in a state room.”
“You’re doin’ great, Buck,” laughed Ned, “and you’ll either save us from starvation or kill us with pickles and plum pudding.”
Ned went to the ladder and called off the entire bill of fare to the busy boys above.
“What’ll you have?” he concluded soberly.