Sam hesitated. The case was of a sort to perplex an older and wiser head than his. On the one hand was reluctance to accept hospitality he might not be able to return; on the other was dread of appearing boorishly unresponsive. His pocket money chanced to be low; and he was quite sure Step and Poke were in the same plight. So it couldn’t very well be a “Dutch treat.” And pride revolted a bit—town pride, perhaps—at being at a disadvantage, compared with the city youth. But Sam was hungry. Poke was hungry, too, and so was Step.
Varley tugged at Sam’s sleeve. “Let’s trot along!” he urged. “Just a little lunch, you know. Make us feel like fighting cocks, it will. And I don’t mind telling you I need something like grub to take away that goneness.”
It was the repetition of the “little lunch” which turned the scales with Sam. Rather vaguely he pictured light refreshment—sandwiches, maybe, and a boiled egg or two—to be enjoyed picnic fashion.
“All right, I’m with you, Varley—and much obliged,” he said. “Do as much for you some day. And I’d be glad to have a look at the Rainbow Mountain House. They say it’s a very good hotel.”
“Well, we’ll find out how good it is!” cried Varley jubilantly. “Come ahead!”
It was a generous mile that lay between the boys and the hotel, but with the spur of hunger and the equally encouraging sense of mild adventure, they covered the distance briskly enough. On the road Varley was a humble follower of his companions, but when they entered the big lobby of the hostelry, he took command of the expedition.
The others hesitated briefly, glancing about them at the great fire blazing cheerily, at the many easy chairs, at the tables on which were ranged newspapers and magazines, at the deer heads on the wall, at the half dozen guests who were in evidence, some of them in the fur coats in which they had just returned from a long drive in sleighs. But Varley unconcernedly crossed to the desk, and addressed the clerk on duty.
“Lunch for four,” he said. “And we’d like it at once, if we can have it.”
The clerk pushed forward the big register, and offered Varley a pen.
“Certainly,” said he. “Luncheon is served in the main dining-room.”