“All right,” said Slim, “suppose you pare the potatoes.”
“Ask me anything but that!” Justice begged him. “I never get the eyes cut out, and then when they’re on my plate they look up at me reproachfully, like this——”
Justice screwed up his face and rolled his eyes into a grimace that convulsed the girls.
“No, you pare the potatoes, Slim,” he continued. “The Chief Cook always pares the potatoes himself. It’s too delicate a job to entrust to a subordinate.”
Slim had his mouth open to protest, and Sahwah and Katherine, who had just wandered out into the kitchen, were in a gale of merriment over Slim’s costume, when the doorbell rang and a messengerboy passed in a telegram.
They all pressed around eagerly while Katherine read it. It was from Sherry:
“South America boat sailed yesterday. Dr. Phillips gone. Can get no clue. Coming home to-night.”
A long, tragic “Oh-h-h!” from Hinpoha broke the stricken silence which had fallen on the group at the reading of the message.
“Tough luck,” said the Captain feelingly, and Justice repeated, “Tough luck,” like an echo.
The Winnebagos glanced uncertainly toward the stairway and looked at each other inquiringly.