“Quarter of twelve,” said Allan. “Getting hungry?”
“I could eat a saddle!” answered Pete. “Supposing we go back and take the ferry over to Harwich? Is there any place there we could get a feed?”
“I don’t know, but I should think there ought to be. Got any money?”
Pete sat up suddenly and searched his pockets.
“Not a red!” he exclaimed. “I forgot to change.”
“Same here,” said Allan, dolefully. Pete picked his pipe up from where it had fallen and relighted it. Then he threw himself onto his back, put one leg over the other knee, and chuckled.
“I don’t think it’s so terribly funny,” said Allan, aggrievedly. “We can’t get home until three or four o’clock. Wish we’d had sense enough to bring lunch with us.”
“Yes; a half dozen sandwiches and a piece of pie wouldn’t go so bad, would they? Nice thick sandwiches, with ham or beef inside, and lots of butter and mustard. And—what kind of pie do you like best, Allan?”
“Oh, shut up, you!”
“I like pumpkin—or, maybe, apple. Yes, apple’s pretty hard to beat. We’ll have apple; about three pieces each.”