"Mis' Toplady shook her head. 'They ain't a place big enough to seat twenty-one, even if they was the food to feed 'em—' she begun, an' then she stopped an' looked 'round at us, as though she was thinkin' somethin'.
"'Oh, come now,' says the man,—he was good-lookin' an' young, an' merry-seemin',—'Oh, come now,' he said, 'I am sure that the ladies of Friendship could cook things such as never man yet ate. We are sta-arving,' he says, humorous. 'Can't you do something for us? We'll give you,' he winds up, genial, 'two dollars a plate for a good, home-cooking dinner for the twenty-four of us. What do you say?'
"Mis' Toplady whirled toward us sort o' wild. 'Is two dollars times twenty-four, forty-eight dollars?' says she, low.
"An' we see it was, though Mis' Holcomb was still figurin' it out in the palm of her other hand, while we stood gettin' glances out of each other's eyes, an' sendin' 'em, give for take. We see, quick as a flash, what Mis' Toplady was thinkin' about. An' it was about that hall, all festooned with greens an' cut paper, an' the two long tables laid ready, an' the veal loaf an' scalloped potatoes an' ice-cream for thirty. An' when Mis' Sykes, that usually speaks, stood still, an' didn't say one word, but just nodded a little bit, sort o' sad, Mis' Toplady, that was chairman o' the Entertainment Committee, done like she does sometimes—she took the whole thing into her own hands an' just settled it.
"'Why, yes,' she says to 'em, rill pleasant, 'if you want to come up to post-office hall at half-past six,' she says, 'the Friendship Married Ladies' Cemetery Improvement Sodality will serve you your supper, nice as the nicest, for two dollars a head.'
"'Good!' the men all sings out, an' the women spats their hands soft, an' one of 'em says somethin' to the merry-seemin' man.
"'Oh, yes,' he says then, 'couldn't we all break into this hotel an' floss up a bit before dinner?'
"Mis' Hubbelthwait stepped out towards 'em.
"'I was thinkin' of that,' says she. 'My husband,' she says, dignified, 'is settin' in the bar—practisin' his violin. He—he does that sometimes, an' we—don't bother him. But the bar is at the back. I can let you in, still, the front way to the rooms, if you want. An' I'll be there myself to wait on you.'