However, by dint of haste, Weezy was dressed at last, and on the arrival of the train at the breakfast-station the whole party went out to the dining-room and made a hurried meal.
“They are to put on a dining-car at noon, I’m happy to say, and we shall have our dinner on the train,” remarked Mr. Rowe. “I dislike this rapid eating.”
It was a nice dinner, well served, and The Happy Six enjoyed it immensely. They supped that night from their luncheon-basket and called it a picnic. They had adjoining tables by themselves, and the three parents were at a table farther down the aisle. They were now beyond the desert, at Laguna, where the train had been delayed for some hours by an accident to the engine.
From the window at which Paul was seated they caught a glimpse of the Indian city with its clustering adobe houses and brown church surmounted by a cross.
“Not much of a city,” commented Paul, opening a box of sardines. “It looks more like a village, a tiny, half-grown one into the bargain.”
“But for all that, papa says it holds thousands of Indians, just thousands!” said Kirke. “They must be packed snug, like those little fishes.”
“They’d pack better if they were longer lengthwise and shorter widthwise,” laughed Paul, glancing at a group of thick-set Indians parading along the track.
“Why are those red men like heavy biscuits?” asked Pauline, helping Donald to orange marmalade.
“Because they’re ill-bred,” responded her brother. Pauline shook her head.
“I know why they’re like heavy biscuits,” exclaimed Weezy confidently. “Because you can’t eat ’em.”