Mrs. Allen came quickly into the room.
“Gentlemen,” she exclaimed, holding her hands before her face as if to hide her confusion, “I must confess mah inexcusable ovahsight. Youah friend and colleague was heah and left a message which I neglected to delivah. He can not be with you at youah meetin’. A friend presented him a ticket to the ten-cent pictuah show, and he has repaired to the theatah.”
Tom’s eyes twinkled, but matter of fact Hal growled:
“Went to the movin’ picture show on a regular meetin’ night?”
“So it appeahs,” laughed Mrs. Allen, as she withdrew.
“Well,” growled Hal, “it’s that many more crabs for us, anyway.”
It required no education for Bob to master a freshly fried soft shell crab. But by the time three of them had disappeared with crackling crispness, he was ready to ask:
“Say, kids; what’s the meeting all about?”
Hal and Tom were too busy to reply at once, but, finally, both loaves were empty. After a search for loose crumbs, Hal pushed an empty loaf aside.
“Before we go any further, I’d like to know one thing. You look all right, and you eat all right—though you can’t tell much by crabs, there bein’ a limit to ’em, but are you one o’ them ducks ’at would rather get off in a corner an’ read a book than go boatin’ or fishin’? O’ course, you don’t have to answer lessen you want to, but business is business.”