There was a brief pause. Then said Sam, slowly and half-reluctantly: “Why—why—yes, I guess so.”
“Then it’s as good as done!” quoth Poke, and departed in search of the proposed guest of honor.
The youthful code is usually simple but exacting. “Pay your debts” stands close to the head of its list of rules. Instinctively Sam doubted the success of Poke’s undertaking—things had a way of happening unexpectedly to Poke. Still, he saw no sound reason for interfering with the plan to restore the balance between the Safety First Club and Paul Varley. He would have preferred himself to be the host, but as that might not be, he yielded the place to his plump friend.
Varley accepted the invitation. He would be delighted to go to Poke’s dinner, and he said so.
The attendance of all the club’s members was taken for granted; and all were promptly at the meeting-place on Saturday morning. The sun was shining, the air was fine and bracing, and the snow was in excellent condition. The party set out on the tramp in high spirits, taking a somewhat roundabout course to the hotel, but passing close to the house of the injured woodsman. There they halted briefly to make inquiry as to his condition, and were told that he was convalescing satisfactorily.
They brought noble appetites to the feast, and even the doubtful Sam was forced to admit to himself that Poke had arranged matters very well, indeed. A private dining-room was set aside for the youthful visitors; the quite ample bill of fare had been lengthened with especial attention to their tastes. Poke beamingly presided at the head of the table, with Varley at his right and Sam at his left. Poke, in fact, was having the time of his life, and when the others called upon him for a speech, he made one willingly enough.
“Tell you, fellows, I’m awfully glad all of you could come,” said he. “Seemed to me it would be a bully idea to—er—er”—he paused, of a sudden reminded that one may not eulogize one’s own hospitality—“er—er—that is, we ought to do something to—er—er—to break the monotony. Stupidest part of the year, you know. Anything for a little variety. Of course, I might have done other things, but it struck me the crowd would like a square meal——”
“Yes, we needed it!” the Trojan put in in a stage whisper.
Poke reddened. “Say, I didn’t mean that, and you know it! All of you get plenty to eat; so do I. Only we don’t have the chance to eat together; and I knew this was a cracking good place. So here we are! And I’d like to know if anybody has anything to say against it?”
“Not a word!” cried the Trojan.