“I’m not expecting any one, sir.”
“Indeed!” The visitor glanced at the banquet and looked puzzled. “Pardon me; I thought you were giving a small spread. I shall be very glad to remain if I’m not in your way.”
He laid aside his hat and took a seat. Parmelee retired to the window and frowned at the banquet. Of course he had not been asked to explain it, but no other course seemed possible; the situation was ridiculous. He would make a clean breast of it. Somehow it did not seem difficult to tell things to the kind-faced stranger.
“I dare say you think I’m crazy,” he said, “with all that stuff spread out there and—and nobody coming, but—” And then he explained things, although not very lucidly, for he was disturbed by a realization of the absurdity of the affair. But the visitor seemed to understand, and when Parmelee had ended, he exclaimed, with concern:
“Why, then I’ve been keeping you from your supper! And no lunch, you say? I’d no idea, I assure you—” He seized his hat again. Parmelee sprang to his feet.
“No, no, I’m not in the least hungry! That is, I’m in no hurry.”
The older man hesitated.
“But if you’ve had no lunch, you must be starved! Indeed, I’m sure you must be! I can appreciate your condition in a measure, for my own lunch was a sorry affair, although I did get a few bites. Don’t let me keep you a moment longer.”
“But—but—” exclaimed Parmelee. The visitor paused with his hand on the door-knob. “Perhaps—you must be hungry yourself, and—if you wouldn’t mind the lack of knives and forks—and plates—I’d be awfully glad——”
“Well, really now, I’ve half a mind to accept,” laughed the other. “The truth is, I’m as hungry as a bear. These boarding-houses on class-day—” He shook his head expressively. “You are sure I’m not taking some one else’s place?”