Then came the dinner. Mrs. Ruggles did not wait on the guests. The dishes were placed on the table and they helped themselves, while Merry and Percy, with napkins over their arms, like well-trained butlers, removed one set of plates and brought on another.
Perhaps these young people, who were not epicures by any means, did not realize how delicious Mrs. Ruggles’ dinner really was. But an older and more experienced person would have appreciated some of those delightful concoctions of rice and pimentos, soup thick and rich, fowls done to a turn, and a dish of corn meal and chopped meat and tomatoes, like a Mexican tamale. But they enjoyed it and the pudding that followed and the cups of strong black coffee.
It was a merry meal, too, with jokes and songs and much laughter. Mrs. Ruggles moved ponderously about the room or sat silently by the fire. Occasionally her face lit up with a delightful smile, and she would turn and beam approvingly at Percy or Merry or Roly Poly McLane, who were the chief fun-makers.
After dinner Billie seized an opportunity to speak to the strange woman.
“We had a splendid dinner, Mrs. Ruggles,” she said. “I should think you would have lots of people stopping here in this delightful place.”
“The Inn is closed now,” she answered. “I don’t rent my rooms any more.”
“And you have no guests at all?” asked Billie.
Mrs. Ruggles looked at her for so long that Billie felt desperately uncomfortable.
“No,” she answered shortly, and began clearing off the table with a scowl that reminded Billie of some one somewhere.