"Where is the pudding?" said Miss Gastonguay, suddenly.
The joints had been removed, and a long and awkward pause had ensued. Tribulation stood in the doorway, trying to hide behind and restrain his brother, until Miss Gastonguay's lordly, "Come forward," brought them near the table.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "Has the cat run away with the creams and the ices?"
"It's O'Toole, ma'am," said Prosperity, readily.
"Well, what about him? Come, speak out. We have no secrets in this house."
"He's under the kitchen stove," blurted Prosperity, "and the pudding's with him, and we don't know what he's done with the shapes."
"Did you ever hear of the Maine liquor law, my dear?" asked Miss Gastonguay, addressing Derrice with suspicious sweetness.
"Never," said the girl.
"Well, it is a peculiar law. You know there are some States that try to restrain the sale of intoxicants. We don't here. They are as free as water. My cook can order them over the telephone. Unfortunately, he has a weakness for them."
A suppressed smile went around the table, and Derrice saw that some sarcasm was intended.