How are we going to eat ?" Again brought face to face with this problem, and at the hour for dinner, Pennoyer and Grief thought profoundly.

"Thunder and turf!" Grief finally announced as the result of his deliberations.
"Well, if Billie Hawker was only home----" began Pennoyer.
"But he isn't," objected Wrinkles, "and that settles that." Grief and Pennoyer thought more.

Ultimately Grief said, "Oh, well, let's eat what we've got." The others at once agreed to this suggestion, as if it had been in their minds.
Later there came a quick step in the passage and a confident little thunder upon the door.

Wrinkles arranging the tin pail on the gas stove, Pennoyer engaged in slicing the bread, and Great Grief affixing the rubber tube to the gas stove, yelled, "Come in!" The door opened, and Miss Florinda O'Connor, the model, dashed into the room like a gale of obstreperous autumn leaves.
"Why, hello, Splutter!" they cried.
"Oh, boys, I've come to dine with you." It was like a squall striking a fleet of yachts.
Grief spoke first.

"Yes, you have ?" he said incredulously.
"Why, certainly I have.