“In all my life,” he said, “I never knew before what being really ready for a square meal was!”
“Yes, ready!” Sam reported; though, as he spoke, he saw that Tom Orkney, withdrawn a little from the others, was standing close to a window and inspecting something he held in his hand. Still, as Tom had made as full a toilette as anybody else, Sam saw no reason to delay on his account.
“Yes, ma’am, ready!” he repeated more loudly.
The door swung, and the boys trooped into the dining-room, Lon bearing them willing company. But while they feasted their eyes upon the well-spread table, their hostess was again making a count.
“Six, seven—sakes alive! but there ought to be eight of you, not saying anything of Lon Gates, who’s quite big enough to speak for himself. And there’s only seven.” Mrs. Grant was moving toward the door. “Now what in the world——” she was looking into the living-room. “Oh, there you are! Goodness gracious, child, I should think you’d be famished!”
Orkney thrust what he had been examining into an inner pocket of his coat. Then, blushing and embarrassed, he came forward.
“I—I must have been so interested in—in something I found, I——”
“Never mind it now, anyway! Sit right down, and let’s see if you won’t find breakfast interesting, too.”
Tom took his place at the table; the others already had taken their places. Hannah, coffee-pot in hand, approached, and began to fill the cups.
Every face brightened as the savory odor of the steaming coffee filled the room. Poke sighed, but it was a sigh of vast content.