Mrs. Petterby overheard this, and she blushed and whispered: “I got one o’ them bottles that keeps things hot or cold, as you want ’em. You get some milk off the ice, and then it will be all ready to have the egg broke into and shaken up when your auntie wants it, by and by.”
“That’s nice of you!” cried Dorothy, and proceeded to call the waiter and order the cold milk.
“But where’ll you get an egg—a real fresh egg, I mean?” sniffed Tavia. “Not on a dining-car.”
“That’s so!” groaned Dorothy. “And Aunt Winnie is so particular about her eggs. She can always tell if an egg is the least bit stale.”
The old lady leaned forward again, and once more the pretty pink flush suffused her withered cheek. She was a keen-eyed, birdlike person, and her manner was timid like a bird’s.
“If—if you don’t mind waiting about an hour, I shouldn’t be surprised if I—I could supply the fresh egg,” she said.
“You?” gasped Tavia, amazed.
“You know where we can buy one, you mean?” queried Dorothy.
“Oh, you won’t have to buy one,” declared Mrs. Petterby. “I’d be glad enough to give it to you.”
“But who has fresh eggs on this train?” demanded Tavia.