"Dab is head cook and I'm head waiter," had been Ford's explanation, "and we can't have any women folk a-bothering about our kitchen. Frank and the boys are company."
Certainly the cook had no cause to be ashamed of his work. The coffee was excellent. The fish were done to a turn. The oysters, roasted, broiled or stewed, and likewise the clams, were all that could have been asked for. Bread there was in abundance, and everything was going finely till Mrs. Kinzer asked her son, as his fire-red face showed itself at the kitchen door:
"Dabney, you've not sent in your vegetables; we're waiting for them."
Dab's face grew still redder, and he came very near dropping a plate he had in his hand.
"Vegetables? Oh yes. Well, Ford, we might as well send them in now. I've got them all ready."
Annie opened her eyes and looked hard at her brother, for she knew very well that not so much as a potato had been thought of in their preparations. Ford himself looked a little queer, but he marched out, white apron and all. A minute or so later, the two boys came in again, each bearing aloft a huge platter.
One of these was solemnly deposited at each end of the table.
"Vegetables?"
"Why, they're lobsters!"
"Oh, Ford, how could you?"