"No! I eat my own pie!" Trouble exclaimed, and he climbed up into his chair, being helped by his father, next to whom he sat.
The meal was almost over, and Daddy Martin was wondering what his Uncle Toby could want him to take charge of, when Mrs. Martin gave a sudden start, a sort of shiver, and said:
"Why, my feet are getting wet!"
"Your feet wet!" exclaimed her husband. "Surely it isn't raining in here! It isn't even raining outside!" he laughed, as he looked from a window.
"But my feet are damp," went on Mrs. Martin. Then she raised the cloth, which hung down rather low on each side of the table, and glanced at the floor. "There's a big puddle of water under our table!" she cried.
Then Ted looked over toward the big water-cooler in one corner of the restaurant.
"Somebody left the faucet open!" cried Teddy. "The ice water is all running out! No wonder your feet are wet, Mother!"
Mr. Martin hastily left his chair and turned off the faucet, and, as he did so, he looked at Trouble. Something in the face of that youngster caused Daddy Martin to ask:
"William, did you do that?"
"I—I dess maybe I turned it on a 'ittle bit!" confessed the mischievous one.