Everybody wanted a drink. Willie went to a side-wall and groped for a button, pushed it and held it, then resumed his place before the fire. After a time he pushed it again.
"Where is everybody?" he snapped. Then the truth dawned on him again. "Good Lord, we're marooned!"
Winifred chuckled at the situation. "You'll have to be your own barkeep, Willie. Go rustle us what you can find."
"But everything would be in the cellar," he answered. "If there's anything here at all, which I doubt. And the key is in town. Couldn't trust Prout with it. Fine old gardener—give his life to save a peony—but he's death on liquor. I couldn't trust him to order in drinkables—besides, I forgot."
There were groans of horror.
"'Water, water, everywhere,'" said Ten Eyck, "'and not a drop to drink.'"
"It's bad enough having no servants to wait on us," Mrs. Neff pondered, "but who's to do our thinking for us? Which'll we die of first? thirst or starvation?"
"We'll get in a supply from the village to-morrow," said Willie, handsomely.
"To-morrow never comes," said Winifred.
For lack of artificial stimulus the momentary enthusiasm lapsed again. Nobody cared even to read. The fireplace was books enough.