“My, my, but this is bully! Only I wish——” there he broke off abruptly and a bit sheepishly.
“What are you wishing?” Mrs. Grant inquired solicitously.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, ma’am. I—I—it was just a fancy.”
“What kind of a fancy? Tell us, do!”
Poke reddened; he moved uneasily in his chair. “It—I guess it’s too foolish to talk about.”
“But sometimes I like to hear things that may not be so foolish, after all.”
The boy hesitated. Then, perceiving that the whole hungry party waited on an end of this interlude, he spoke, hastily and jerkily:
“It’s a crazy notion, I know.... Folks don’t do it at breakfast, I suppose. But—but I couldn’t help remembering that perfectly corking buster of a mince pie we had yesterday, and wishing I’d come to it with the razor appetite I’ve got this minute. It was just a notion, you know, and——”
There Mrs. Grant stopped him. “What did I tell you about foolish things that weren’t foolish?... Hannah! Bring it in—we’ll begin with it, instead of end with it.... And hurry, please do!”
Away sped the maid to the kitchen, and Mrs. Grant again addressed her guests: