“Please pass the olives,” came again from Bess, waiting patiently. “I’ve only had—”
“A dozen!” interrupted Ed.
“I have not!”
“Children!” rebuked Cora.
They were all at the supper table–I prefer, since we are now at sea, which makes so many equal–to call the late meal supper, in preference to dinner. No fisherman ever eats a “dinner” except at noon, and it was now well on to six o’clock. And they were making merry, were the motor maids and boys.
Mrs. Chester had made bountiful provision for the party and they were now enjoying it thoroughly. Over in the bungalow of the boys were ample supplies for days to come, though such as would not keep had been laid in sparingly.
“You girls certainly look nice enough to—”
“Eat, were you going to say?” asked Eline, who was particularly “fetching,” to quote Norton, whereupon Jack wanted to know what it was she was expected to “fetch.”
“Well, at least nibble at,” remarked Walter. “Some of you don’t look as though you would stand more than a nibble,” and he looked particularly at Bess.
“Oh, but there is so much to do,” sighed Cora, as she thought of the arrangements for the night. “We really must hurry through supper and straighten things out. Then we can rest to-morrow.”