Bill laughed and shook his head. “Thanks just the same, Frank. Some other time maybe. There won’t be any scrapping where I’m going this evening. This is just going to be a quiet conference.”
Frank looked disappointed. “Well, you never can tell, sir. If it looks like somethin’ interestin’, I hope you’ll give us a ring, an’ I’ll be wid yer in three shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“I’ll remember, but don’t be too hopeful. So long now. I’m off to get a bite at the house before I start off again.”
“So long, Master Bill. I’ll have the Buick ’round front for you, soon as I wheel this crate into the hangar.”
“Thanks,” said Bill again, and marched off toward the house.
In the kitchen he encountered the cook. “Well, if it isn’t Master Bill home agin’,” beamed that buxom female. “Sure as I’m a sinner it’s yer dinner ye’ll be wantin’—an’ divil a bit av it cooked yet. I give the help theirn an hour ago!”
“Oh, that’s all right, Annie. But would it be too much trouble to rustle me a couple of sandwiches—or maybe three?”
Annie, hands on hips and arms akimbo, looked indignant. “It’s no sandwiches ye’ll be gettin’, Master Bill. In half an hour I’ll have something hot and tasty dished up. Can’t ye be waitin’ that long?”
“Gee, I sure can, Annie. But don’t bother too much. Anything will do. I’m hungry enough to eat shoe leather!”
“Now you leave that to me,” he heard her say as he went toward the front of the house and then up the stairs to his room.