“You won’t find Lemblow on the Giants,” said Joe, and instantly could have bitten his tongue out for the slip. Both girls glanced up at him quickly.
“Lemblow?” repeated Mabel breathlessly. “Then you know—you suspect——”
“I don’t know anything,” retorted Joe, almost brusquely, then added, with an immediate softening of his tone: “I didn’t mean to speak that way, dear, but I want to get this thing over with. Guess I’m hungry,” he ended, with a laugh.
“Feed the brute,” added Jim. “I’m just about starved myself.”
But the girls were not to be put off. They deluged them with questions as to who Lemblow was until in desperation the boys carried the attack into the enemy’s camp.
“See here!” said Joe. “We refuse to answer any more questions. If we didn’t, you’d be sitting with that fool album in your laps for the rest of the night. Altogether, boys: ‘We want dinner!’ Again: ‘We want dinner!’”
The three gave the cry with a gusto that made the girls laugh in spite of themselves.
“Oh, well, if you want to be so mean!” said Clara, and again turned her attention to the album. Almost immediately she cried out, touching one of the pictures with her finger.
“Look,” she said. “Here’s the one I’ve been looking for all the time!”