Part 26 (1/2)
”It's the best to be had,” said I.
”That's quite right,” he said, musingly. ”We use only the best of everything at Bronx Park. It is traditional with us, you know.”
Curiosity pushed me. ”Well, what on earth is it for?” I broke out.
He looked at me gravely over the tops of his spectacles--a striking and inspiring figure in his yellow flannel dressing-gown and slippers.
”I shall tell you some day--perhaps,” he said, mildly. ”Good-night, Miss Barrison; good-night, Mr. Gilland. You will find extra blankets on your bunk--”
”What!” I cried.
”Bunks,” he said, and shut the door.
XVI
”There is something weird about this whole proceeding,” I observed to the pretty stenographer next morning.
”These pies will be weird if you don't stop talking to me,” she said, opening the doors of Professor Farrago's portable camping-oven and peeping in at the fragrant pastry.
The professor had gone off somewhere into the woods early that morning. As he was not in the habit of talking to himself, the services of Miss Barrison were not required. Before he started, however, he came to her with a request for a dozen pies, the construction of which he asked if she understood. She had been to cooking-school in more prosperous days, and she mentioned it; so at his earnest solicitation she undertook to bake for him twelve apple-pies; and she was now attempting it, a.s.sisted by advice from me.
”Are they burned?” I asked, sniffing the air.
”No, they are not burned, Mr. Gilland, but my finger is,” she retorted, stepping back to examine the damage.
I offered sympathy and witch-hazel, but she would have none of my offerings, and presently returned to her pies.
”We can't eat all that pastry,” I protested.
”Professor Farrago said they were not for us to eat,” she said, dusting each pie with powdered sugar.
”Well, what are they for? The dog? Or are they simply objets d'art to adorn the shanty--”
”You annoy me,” she said.
”The pies annoy me; won't you tell me what they're for?”
”I have a pretty fair idea what they're for,” she observed, tossing her head. ”Haven't you?”
”No. What?”
”These pies are for bait.”
”To bait hooks with?” I exclaimed.
”Hooks! No, you silly man. They're for baiting the cage. He means to trap these transparent creatures in a cage baited with pie.”
She laughed scornfully; inserted the burned tip of her finger in her mouth and stood looking at me defiantly like a flushed and bright-eyed school-girl.