Harry brightened perceptibly. “That’s so,” she cried. “I’ll ask mama if I’ll have to stay more than two weeks. Wouldn’t that be lovely? We could have the dandiest times, couldn’t we?”
“I don’t believe your mother would let you stay on the island at night, though,” said Roy.
“Well, but I could go over real early in the morning and have breakfast with you, and stay all day. I could do the cooking for you! I can cook real well. I can make doughnuts and vanilla cookies and cheese-straws and—”
“Can you fry eggs?” asked Chub anxiously.
“Of course, stupid! Any one can do that!”
“All right, Harry, consider yourself engaged. There’s nothing like a few eggs to begin a hard day’s work on.”
“I want mine scrambled,” said Dick. “Can you do that, Harry?”
“Yes; you just put some milk with the eggs and stir them all up nice and messy with a silver knife,” replied Harry.
“You’ll have to bring your own knife,” laughed Roy. “We’ll use tin ones, I guess. As for me, though, I have to have my eggs in an omelet, Harry. How are you at omelets?”