"Will supply luncheon for six, 1.15 to-day."
"Can you remember what your wire said, Willoughby?" I asked mildly.
"Rather. 'Can you provide luncheon for six at 1.15.—Willoughby.'"
"Exactly. Can't you see, you silly ass, how you've muffed it? Read this." Willoughby read, while Sylvia and Molly looked over and giggled.
"Hang it all! I suppose I ought to have said to-morrow," he sighed. "Here, Thompson, you and Hilda, as the married couple of the party, ought to deal with these beastly emergencies."
"Not I," I replied. "You've got us in the muddle, now get us out. Wire and say it's for to-morrow."
"And then," said my practical wife, "we shall get to-day's hot lunch cold to-morrow, and a rapacious Scotch-woman will charge us for it twice over."
"I wish you would say 'Scots,' not 'Scotch,'" complained MacFadden.
"Sorry, Kiltie," rejoined Hilda; "and perhaps one of you two will deal with the Scots woman."
"Leave her to me and none of you interfere," answered MacFadden. "Willoughby is no good at a job that needs tact. He's not half as lovable as I am either. Is he, Molly? We'll send the wire at once. Come on."