“Good-morning,” cried the boys, suddenly roused by his voice to a sense of their social duty.
“Awfully brickish of you to ask us round,” said Telson.
“Rather,” chimed in Parson.
“I’m glad you came,” said the captain. “We may as well have breakfast. Telson, have you forgotten how to boil eggs?”
Telson said emphatically he had not, and proceeded forthwith to give practical proof of his cunning, while Parson volunteered his aid in cutting up the bread, and buttering the toast.
In due time the preliminaries were all got through, and the trio sat down to partake of the reward of their toil.
Riddell could not thank his stars sufficiently that he had thought of embellishing his feast with the few luxuries from Fairbairn’s cupboard. Nothing could exceed the good-humour of the two juniors as one delicacy after another unfolded its charms and invited their attention. They accompanied their exertions with a running fire of chat and chaff, which left Riddell very little to do except gently to steer the conversation round towards the point for which this merry meeting was designed.
“Frightful job to get old Parson to turn up,” said Telson, taking his fourth go-in of potted meat; “he thought you were going to row him about that shindy in the Parliament!”
“No, I didn’t,” rejoined Parson, pushing up his cup for more tea. “It was you said that about blowing up us Skyrockets.”
“What a howling cram,” said Telson. “I never make bad jokes. You know, Riddell, it was Parson stuck us up to that business. He’s always at the bottom of the rows.”