[CHAPTER IX]
PAINFUL LESSONS
“Pass a fork, Dave.”
“Haven’t one; use your knife.”
“Can’t get pickles out with a knife, silly. Can’t you——”
“Here’s one,” said Wayne. “I was sitting on it. When will Paddy get here?”
“Ought to be here now. Wish he’d hurry; I’m getting most powerful hungry, as Old Virginia there says.”
“Will he be elected?” asked Wayne, as he struggled with the cover of a biscuit tin.
“Sure to be,” answered Dave, who was arranging the spread on the study table of No. 2 Hampton, now denuded of its customary litter of books, paper, and rubbish. “And he’ll be here pretty quick; I told him we’d wait until nine, and if he wasn’t here then we’d start in.”