“Boys,” said Amos Sanderson, “I don’t mind admitting that I have never been more hungry in the whole course of my life.”
Bernard and Walter Cunningham agreed that their feelings harmonized with his.
“Suppose we order dinner,” said Bernard humorously.
“They will be sure to feed us,” observed Cunningham. “They won’t kill the goose from which they expect golden eggs.”
He proved to be right. In a short time the door was opened, and one of the bandits appeared, bringing a large loaf of black bread, with a small dish of olives, and a supply of macaroni. A quart bottle of sour wine completed the generous collation.
It was not very tempting. It was worse than they had fared at any of the poor inns where they had lodged, yet Amos Sanderson’s face brightened when he saw the food, and he did full justice to it.
“I am so hungry that I really believe I could eat shoe leather,” he said.
Bernard and Walter Cunningham also ate with zest.
“Now I suppose they will bring in the bill,” said Amos Sanderson grimly.
But when the meal was over they were left to themselves for a time.