“Why, Billie, what kind of kitchen talk is that?” exclaimed Elinor, laughing. “You’ll be seeing with the eyes of a cook next. Sunsets will remind you of tomato soup and clouds will make you think of meringues and—”
Elinor broke off, her eyes wide with astonishment, and the others following the direction of her gaze saw that she was looking at a man who had crept into their midst so silently that no one had noticed him. In that haggard and unshaved face they recognized Mr. Lupo.
“Something to eat,” he demanded fiercely. “I’m almost starved.”
Without a word Billie handed him several sandwiches and some fruit.
“Eat it over there,” she ordered, pointing to a distant tree, “and afterwards you can tell us what is the matter.”
The others admired her calm assurance with the half-breed, but Billie was tired of the Lupos. The wife had come near being the death of her beloved cousin, and the husband was a lazy, loafing fellow. Such was her judgment of them.
“Come, Phoebe. Come, Dr. Hume,” she said, and the others gathered around the lunch cloth. Mr. Lupo lifted his sodden, bloodshot eyes at the word “Phoebe,” and saw with astonishment the young girl, whom Billie knew the couple hated, now drinking tea and mingling on equal terms with the people of Sunrise Camp.
His eyes narrowed into little slits. After choking down the sandwiches greedily, he stalked over into their midst.
“What have you done with my wife?” he demanded.
“We know nothing of your wife, Lupo,” answered Dr. Hume, who knew all about the couple by this time. “You had better go on now, if you have had enough food.”