Part 2 (1/2)
”I bet it hasn't been filled,” said Ca.s.s; then, after the fas.h.i.+on of mankind, he lifted his voice in supplication to the nearest feminine ear:
”Oh! Ro--ose!”
His older sister, coming to the rescue, agreed with his diagnosis of the case, and with Quin's a.s.sistance bore the delinquent lamp to the kitchen.
”Hope you don't mind being made home-folks,” she said, patting the puffs over her ears and looking at him sideways.
”Mind?” said Quin. ”If you knew how good all this looks to me! It's the first touch of home I've had in years. Wish you'd let me set the table--I'm strong on K. P.”
”Help yourself,” said Rose; ”the plates are in the pantry and the silver in the sideboard drawer. Wait a minute!”
She took a long ap.r.o.n from behind the door and handed it to him.
”How do these ends buckle up?” he asked, helplessly holding out the straps of the bib.
”They b.u.t.ton around your little neck,” she told him, smiling. ”Turn round; I'll fix it.”
”Why turn round?” said Quin.
Their eyes met in frank challenge.
”You silly boy!” she said--but she put her arms around his neck and fastened the bib just the same.
How that supper ever got itself cooked and served is a marvel. Everybody took a turn at the stirring and toasting, everybody contributed a missing article to the table, and there was much rus.h.i.+ng from kitchen to dining-room, with many collisions and some upsets.
Quin was in the highest of spirits. Even Ca.s.s had never seen him quite like this. With his white ap.r.o.n over his uniform, he pranced about, dancing attendance on Rose, and keeping Myrna and Edwin in gales of laughter over his antics. Every now and then, however, his knees got wabbly and his breath came short, and by the time supper was prepared he was quite ready to sit down.
”What a shame Nell's not here!” said Rose, breaking the eggs into the chafing-dish. ”Then we could have charades. She's simply great when she gets started.”
”Who is Nell?” asked Quin.
”Eleanor Bartlett, our cousin. She's like chicken and ice-cream--the rich Bartletts have her on weekdays and we poor Martels get her only on Sundays. Hasn't Ca.s.s ever told you about Nell?”
”Do you suppose I spend my time talking about my precious family?”
growled Ca.s.s.
”No, but Nell's different,” said Rose; ”she's a sort of Solomon's baby--I mean the baby that Solomon had to decide about. Only in this case neither old Madam Bartlett nor Papa Claude will give up their half; they'd see her dead first.”
”You did tell me about her,” said Quin to Ca.s.s, ”one night when we were up in the Cantigny offensive. I remember the place exactly. Something about an orphan, and a lawsuit, and a little girl that was going to be an actress.”
”That's the dope,” said Ca.s.s. ”Only she's not a kid any more. She grew up while I was in France. She's a great girl, Nell is, when you get her away from that Bartlett mess!”
”Does anybody know where Papa Claude is?” Rose demanded, dexterously ladling out steaming Welsh rabbit on to slices of crisp brown toast.
”He is here, _mes enfants_, he is here!” cried a joyous voice from the hall, followed by a presence at once so exuberant and so impressive that Quin stared in amazement.
”This is Quinby Graham, grandfather,” said Ca.s.s, by way of introduction.
The dressy old gentleman with the flowing white locks and the white rose in his b.u.t.tonhole bore down upon Quin and enveloped his hand in both his own.
”I welcome you for Ca.s.sius' sake and for your own!” he declared with such effusion that Quin was visibly embarra.s.sed. ”My grandson has told me of your long siege in the hospital, of your n.o.ble service to your country, of your gallant conduct at----”