“Oh, Phil!” cried his sister. “You don’t mean to say you’re going to eat more; are you?”
“I am if I can get ’em to eat,” was his cool answer. “Some olives, too. You didn’t, by any chance, I suppose, Helen, put another bottle in that never-failing basket of yours; did you?”
“I certainly did,” she answered with a laugh. “I knew you boys would be hungry.”
“They’re never otherwise,” declared Ruth.
“Cruel sister, to treat her little brother so,” commented Phil, as he used the corkscrew on the bottle of olives, while Helen got out more sandwiches.
There was a sudden pop, and the olive bottle cork came out so unexpectedly that Phil, who was kneeling down to perform that delicate operation, went over backward, while Frank let out a cry of dismay.
“My eye! Oh, my eye!” he exclaimed, holding his hand to his face.
“What’s the matter with it?” demanded Sid anxiously. “Did a piece of cork get in it?”
“No, but about a gallon of that olive juice did!” retorted the afflicted one, as he used his handkerchief vigorously. “You did that on purpose, Phil.”
“I did not. The cork came out before I was ready for it. I don’t see why they put ’em in so tight.”