when we get there. I am thinking of you three men, of course," she
added hastily; "we girls don't want much."

"As for me," said Willoughby, looking at Sylvia, whom he has adored
dumbly for years, "very little satisfies me. I'm like the fellow who
said, 'a crust of bread, a bottle of wine and you.' You know the chap,
MacFadden."

"Isn't it wonderful how he remembers his OMAR?" remarked Mac
enthusiastically.

"I don't know much poetry," said Willoughby, whose tastes are sporting
rather than literary, "but I always liked that bit."

"But lunch," I interposed, "is the pressing question. There's sure to
be an hotel at Waterfoot, as you say. Send a telegram there, asking
for lunch for six. If there's no hotel, no reply and no lunch. If
there is we get our reply and our lunch. Willoughby can wire, because
he learned all about telegraphs in the army."

Within two hours came the reply. I opened it.

"Will supply luncheon for six, 1.15 to-day."

"Can you remember what your wire said, Willoughby?" I asked mildly.

"Rather. 'Can you provide luncheon for six at 1.15.--Willoughby.'"

"Exactly. Can't you see, you silly ass, how you've muffed it? Read
this." Willoughby read, while Sylvia and Molly looked over and