Miss Tabitha had proved as helpful as Dan Whipple had predicted. She had shaken her head at the idea of entertaining six hundred at the fête. “You mustn’t count on more than half that many,” she said. “I dare say all the boys will go, and they’ll make ninety. Then, if you get two hundred of the townsfolk, you’ll be doing very nicely. Don’t decide how much salad or how many sandwiches you want until Saturday morning. So much will depend on the weather. Even if you hold the affair indoors, lots of folks won’t come if it rains. You say you’ve ordered eight cakes from Martha Comfort and twelve dozen cream-puffs from Mrs. Deane?”
“Yes’m,” said Ned. “We wanted Mrs. Deane to make more, but she didn’t think she could.”
“Well, that’s a hundred and fourty-four cream-puffs, and—let me see—one of Miss Comfort’s cakes will cut into sixteen pieces, and eight times sixteen—”
“A hundred and twenty-eight, ma’am.”
“Well, and a hundred and twenty-eight and a hundred and forty-four—”
“Two hundred and seventy-two.”
“You’re real quick at figures, aren’t you? Seems as if, though, counting on three hundred, you’d be a little short. I’ll have Aunt Persis make one of her marble-cakes. That’ll help out, I guess.”
“Yes’m; thanks awfully,” answered Ned.
“Who is going to serve the refreshments?”
“Why—why—” Ned’s face fell. “I guess we hadn’t thought of that!”