"So you is Mistah Somers, an' party," went on the lad. "I've been a-lookin' for yo' every day. Yo' sho must be hungry, gemmen. All right, Mistah Dugan, I'll help yo'. Step inside, Mistah Somers an' fren's, an' I'll git a meal that'll do yo' a power of good."
"Glorious words," murmured Dave, "to be followed by glorious action."
Ten minutes later, the "rattleboard" had disappeared, and the boys were busily engaged in removing the dust and stains of travel.
The rooms of Rickham House were large and furnished more for comfort than appearance. As the boys collected in the large, square dining-hall, they examined with interest the old-fashioned fireplace, substantial oak furniture and numerous engravings of hunting scenes which hung upon the walls.
Sam Bins had disappeared, but occasionally sounds from the open door indicated that something was happening in the kitchen.
"Did you ever think how much we owe to cooks?" said Dave, as he settled down in a comfortable chair. "Why——"
"Huh, cut it out, Chubby," admonished Dick Travers. "Let's talk about something worth while."
"Won't do it now, after being sat on like that," sighed the poet. "Wake me up, fellows, when dinner is ready," and he closed his eyes.
Sam Bins was a good cook and had a proper appreciation of the size of a hungry boy's appetite. The meal was therefore a bountiful one.
Between talking over their plans, relating stories and listening to Fenton's description of New York, the Ramblers passed a very pleasant time.