CHAPTER VII
“THE FALLING OUT OF FAITHFUL FRIENDS”
THE Kid stamped loudly up the piazza steps, and trotted through the house to find Barbara. His infant intellect, assisted by the pangs of his stomach, assured him that it was past the dinner-hour. And yet no loud-tongued bell, energetically operated upon by the Duchess, had summoned him from his play in the dusty street. On such a dire occasion the Kid always reported to headquarters; and passing through the empty dining-room, he came upon Barbara alone in the kitchen, desperately struggling with a can of salmon. The Kid stopped on the threshold and stared.
Barbara, with the can in one hand and the opener in the other, was hotly endeavoring to effect a combination of the two, with a notable lack of success. At first she held the can in the air, and attempted to punch a hole in it with the can-opener; but as this seemed an entirely futile course, she gave it up, and adopted a new method of attack. When Charles arrived upon the scene of action, she placed the can firmly on the table, and gave it a vicious stab with her knife. The tin yielded; Barbara smiled, and all was proceeding merrily, when a sudden, inexplicable twist jerked can and can-opener out of her hand and landed them both on the floor. Barbara forgot herself, and stamped her foot forcibly.
“Where’s Mrs. Harris?” inquired the Kid, with a look of fearful anticipation gathering in his eyes.
No reply. His sister picked up the can, and succeeded in boring a small hole in its top.
“Say, where’s Mrs. Harris?” repeated the little boy, anxiously.
“Charles,” said Barbara, looking at the child for the first time,—“mercy, how dirty you are!—Charles, dinner will be ready soon. Mrs. Harris has left us—”
She stopped short in astonishment. The Kid had thrown himself prone upon the floor, and had broken into loud wails.
“What is it? What is it?” she cried, running to him and trying to pull him up from the floor.