“We haven’t even those,” smiled Phil.
“Then how did you expect to eat—beg from those as provided?” she asked.
“Easy, Marthy, easy,” protested the man the boys knew only as Silas.
“I can’t help it. I’ve no patience with people who—”
“We intend to get our meals in the dining-car,” hastily interposed Ted.
“Must have money to throw away,” opined the man.
“We haven’t, but we did not know about bringing any food or things with us.”
The fact that the young homesteaders did not purpose sponging meals from their fellow passengers quickly re-established them in the motherly woman’s eyes, and, reaching under a seat, she drew forth a hamper from which she produced cups, plates, knives, forks, and spoons.
“Now I’m not going to let you boys throw away your money in that dining-car. I don’t know your names or anything about you, but you look likely and that’s enough for me.” Quickly Phil introduced himself and Ted, telling their new friends briefly about their home and the purpose of their trip.
“Our name is Hopkins,” returned the woman, fairly bubbling over with sympathetic interest in the young homesteaders. “I am glad we started yesterday instead of today, Silas. You can give these boys lots of points. One of our sons has a big farm in Idaho. Now you just sit down and I’ll go back and get the rest of the breakfast.” And Mrs. Hopkins bustled away to the forward part of the car, where the boys beheld a half-dozen other women, their best—and uncomfortable—clothes of the day before changed for easy-fitting gingham dresses.