“Look here, I say,” expostulated Arthur, “you might stay. I’ll get some eggs, or a herring, if you’ll stop.”
But the guest of the morning was beyond reach of these blandishments, and with muttered reflections on human depravity generally, the hosts took a seat at each end of the festive board, and bade the four Fifth-form fellows fall to.
They had already done so. One had cut the loaf, another had meted out the jam, another had poured out the coffee, and another had distributed the butter.
“Have some coffee?” said Wake, pleasantly, to Dig; “very good stuff.”
“Thanks,” said Dig, trying to look grateful. “I’ll wait till there’s a cup to spare.”
“If you’re putting on the eggs,” said Ranger, confidentially, to Arthur, “keep mine on an extra fifteen seconds, please. I like them a little hardish.”
“Awfully sorry,” said Arthur, with a quaver in his voice; “jolly unlucky, but we’re out of eggs. Got none in the place.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Ranger, reassuringly. “The herrings will do quite as well. Stafford may not fancy them, but we do, don’t we, you chaps?”
“Rather,” said Sheriff, thoughtfully scooping out the last remnants of the jam from the pot.
Arthur looked at the baronet and the baronet looked at Arthur. Things were growing desperate, and at all risks a diversion must be made. What could they do? Dig had a vague idea of creating a scare that Smiley had gone mad; but as the animal in question was at that moment peacefully reposing on the hearth, there seemed little probability of this panic “taking.” Then he calculated the possibilities of secretly cutting away one leg of the table, and so covering the defects of the meal by an unavoidable catastrophe. But he had not his penknife about him, and the two table-knives were in use.