She ran upstairs, and Louise went on helping herself to sandwiches. She had eaten three, and was considering whether she really wanted anything more till lunch-time, when a large, fishy hand dropped over her shoulder and took a handful of ham-and-lettuce ones.
“Tom Merriam! There won’t be enough for lunch if we both eat them! I thought you’d gone off fishing for the day.”
“So did I,” said Tom leisurely, “but I found I hadn’t. Where did you blow in from?”
“Camp,” she said. “Winona’s upstairs hunting for change. She thought you walked like the ice-man.”
“Poor Win! She has that ice-man on her mind,” said Tom. “Nay, nay, little one. For far other reason am I here.”
He struck an attitude, with the sandwich he hadn’t finished waving over his head.
“Got hungry?” asked Louise prosaically.
“Not at all,” said Tom. “It was this way. As I was purchasing bait, I met my father.”
“Well—did he send you home?”
“Not exactly. Only—there’s a convention in town. A ministers’ convention. And father’s met two long-lost college chums, which—or who—are coming here to dinner to-night. One has a wife. Better tell Winona, and have Clay put on some extra plates. And—I forgot—here’s a fish I caught before I used up my bait and met father. Have him boiled or something for dinner with some of that stuff like mayonnaise dressing with green things in.”