The room swam all around before Jack, as he went up to the sofa-edge, and Mrs. Sterling's soft, white hand took his hot, nervous one. He didn't know in the least what she said, or how she looked, as he couldn't raise his eyes, but he remembered afterward that her voice was sweet and low, and that somehow he wasn't so afraid after that, and then Joel dragged him into a knot of boys, for by this time several were pouring into the room. And in five minutes Jack felt as if he had known them all for years, and he quite forgot that this was the first time he had ever gone into company.
When the bustle of the arrival was over, and every member of the Comfort committee was present, Mrs. Sterling said:
"Now I think, Gibson, the first thing we should do is to have supper."
So Gibson went over and touched the electric button on the wall, and in came the butler and two maids bearing trays full—well, just crowded with all the good things a boy could desire to eat. And these having been placed on the big, mahogany table in the center of the room, usually filled with books and magazines, but which had been cleared for the purpose, each boy was invited to come up and be helped to whatever he wanted, an invitation that wasn't long left unaccepted.
Joel, in his fear that Jack would somehow be left out in the cold, bent all his energies toward getting him something to eat. The consequence was, that he forgot all about waiting on Mrs. Sterling, and, glancing around after he had poked a plate of cold chicken and jelly into Jack's hand, he saw two or three of the boys—Frick and even little Porter Knapp—vying with each other to be the first to serve their hostess.
"Ugh!" cried Joel, seizing the first thing on the table that caught his eye. It proved to be the salt-cellar, and he rushed up and presented it with a flourish.
"Ho, ho!" exploded Frick, as the little knot of boys parted in the middle, "why we've only got her a napkin and a plate."
Joel glanced down ruefully at the salt-cellar in his hand, and was going to beat a retreat with it, quite crestfallen.
"Thank you, Joel; I shall want it pretty soon," said Mrs. Sterling, smiling into his red face. "There, we'll put it on the table"—for Mrs. Gibson had been busy drawing up a light stand to the side of the sofa—"and will you bring me some cold chicken?"
"Me?" cried Joel, perfectly radiant, but scarcely believing that he could be meant, after his awkwardness.