“Nothing can help cold gravy in my opinion,” drawled Nan, “not even heating it up.”
“How about cold shoulders?” asked the doctor.
“Or icy mitts?”
“Or glacial reserve?”
“Or chilling silence?” Suggestions from different ones of the picnickers.
“What will melt frigid replies?”
“Or frozen glances?”
“Hot air!” from Bill. “Melt anything.” And then he gave a laugh at his own wit that bid fair to dislodge the great rock so delicately balanced in the Devil’s Gorge.
“Let’s go explore the Devil’s Gorge now!” suggested Helen, springing to her feet, forgetting all about her fatigue, only thankful for the foolishness that had been started by Nan to hide her sister’s embarrassment. What would Dr. Wright think of her? He must have understood very well what Bobby meant by attorney-generaling, if the mustard and cold gravy was a mystery.