Caroline placed the anchovies while Molly poured the soup into cups, there being no plates. The voices of the company floated in to her. Jennie Wren had joined them, making the sixth.
She heard a man’s voice exclaim:
“I say, Ju-ju, I call this very luxurious. We never had anything so fine as this at Harvard. You always could hold up the parent and get what you wanted. Now, I never had the nerve. And, by the way, have you got a cook, too?”
“Only for to-night,” answered Judith. “We usually eat downstairs with the others.”
“You’re working some poor little freshman, ten to one,” answered Judith’s brother, for that was evidently who it was. Then Molly heard some one run up a brilliant scale and strike a chord and a good baritone voice began singing:
“‘Oh, I’m a cook and a captain bold,
And a mate of the Nancy brig,
And a bo’sun tight and a midshipmatemite,
And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”
“Why don’t you join in, Eddie? But I forgot. It would never do for a Professor of English Literature at a girls’ college to lift his voice in ribald song.”
Some one laughed. Molly recognized the voice instantly. She knew that Professor Edwin Green was dining at Judith’s that night, and her inquiring mind reached out even further into the realms of conjecture, and she guessed who was the author of his light opera.
“Cousin Edwin, will you sit there, next to me?” said Judith’s voice.
“Cousin?” repeated Molly. “So that’s it, is it?”