Robin had strolled down the hall to see Ronny and give her a birthday present of a curious, vellum-bound book in Spanish, which she had commissioned her dilettante uncle to buy for her in Washington at a fancy price.
“We might all heave-ho and lug the table into the other room with the eats on it,” proposed Jerry dubiously. “On the other hand, there might be a grand heave-ho-ing of eats on the floor. I don’t like to take such a risk, Bean. Think of my goloptious, celostrous cocoanut cake.” Jerry had added “goloptious” to her new vocabulary of one word.
“Think of my scrumptious, splendiferous sandwiches,” retaliated Bean with promptitude.
“I’m thinking about them,” Jerry said mournfully. “I could eat one now, if I had it. So near and yet so far.” She lifted the lunch cloth and made eyes at the stacks of sandwiches. “This is the result of only soup for supper. I yearn to gobble the spread.”
“I’ll feed you a sandwich with my own hand.” Marjorie proffered a nut sandwich, Jerry’s favorite kind, to her hungry roommate.
“Thanks, kind lady. I wasn’t—”
“I know all about you,” cut in Marjorie with an unsympathetic laugh. “Hurry up, and eat that sandwich. Then help me move the eats; by hand; not by table.”
Marjorie went to the door and opened it. She came back to the table, picked up two plates of sandwiches and started with them for Ronny’s room. Part way to it she encountered Annie, one of the maids.
“Oh, Miss Dean, I was just coming after you.” The maid’s broad good-humored features broke into a pleased smile. “There’s a gentleman down stairs in the living room wants to see you.”