Tom, too, began to howl.
“What—Henry?” he said, when he could speak. “Oh, Winnie, you have done it! They’ve had him in the family since their grandfather’s time anyway. Well, you’d better make the best of it, and have Clay take out his interior decorations. Maybe we can eat him if you boil him long enough. I could have robbed the Martins’s tank of their tame goldfish if I’d known you wanted a dinner of household pets.” He sat down on the tubs by Billy and went off again.
“I suggested Puppums in the first place!” gurgled Billy.
“Never mind, Win,” said Louise, going over to Winona, who stood mournfully by the window, “I’ll attend to Henry. We’ll boil him first and then bake him, and he’ll be quite good. I’ll make the stuffing for him, too. I know how quite well.”
“Oh, thank you, Louise!” and Winona brightened up.
“Oh,” teased Billy, “then the remorse isn’t because he’s Henry, but because he’s tough?”
“It’s both,” said Winona, “but there’s no use being uselessly remorseful when you have work to do. I can feel ever so badly about it when I go to bed to-night. I often do. The fish is all right, anyway, and I’m going to make some sauce hollandaise for it out of the cookbook. Really all you need to know how to cook is a cookbook and intelligence.”
“I see the cookbook, but where——” began Tom.
“Billy Lee,” said Winona firmly, “if you came to see Tom, won’t you please take him out on the front porch and see him?”
“I didn’t!” said Billy coolly. “I came to bring Nataly’s note, and I’m staying to see you invent a ten-course dinner, if you’ll let me. Let me stay to dinner, Henry and all, and I’ll make your fish-sauce. All you need is a cookbook and intelligence——”