"I am very, VERY hungry!" Phil announced with mournful emphasis.
"It makes me starved to play this kind of game in the middle of
the night. Can't we have some food, to celebrate the safety of the
Cheemaun?"
"Me, too!" cried Gerald. "I am dying, Egypt, dying! a corpse among the alders dank—-"
"Oh, do stop, boys!" cried Bell. "I'll push you off the wharf if you go on so."
"Oh, wouldn't us lorf, if she pushed us off the wharf!" cried
Gerald.
"I am cross!" said Bell. "My hair is wound all round my neck, and I am half strangled. You boys think of nothing but eating from morning till night. But I am hungry myself, so come along!"
The four buffeted their way back to the house, and Phil climbed in at the pantry window and opened the kitchen door for the dripping party. They lighted a lantern, and judicious rummaging produced crackers and cheese, gingerbread, and some bottles of root beer. Merrily the four adventurers gathered round the table, dripping, rosy and breathless; the girls' long locks hung down over their shoulders, the boys' short curls were plastered close to their heads.
"We must be a lovely sight!" said Bell. "What a pity there is no one to see us! What do you want, Jerry?"
"I want raspberry jam, chiefly," said Gerald, "but first I want to make a speech. I propose a sentiment. Pledging the assembled company in this beaker of rich wine—. Let go that bottle, Ferguson, or I'll have your life! that's my beaker, I tell you! There! now you've upset it. Attendez seulement bis ich dein tete abhaue!"
"Take the butter-dish," said Bell. "That will do just as well."
"I pledge the assembled company in this rich butter," Gerald continued with dignity, "though it is not so comfortable to drink, and I propose, first, the confusion of Ferguson, who is a pettifogger and an armadillo, and, secondly, the health of our captain, Roger, the Codger, who saved the Cheemaun. Three cheers for the well-bred captain of the—"