"I guess you didn't try," snapped Ida Giles, her cheeks aflame
almost to the tint of her fiery tresses.

"I really did," declared Bess. "I would not have spoiled your
hamper for anything."

"And your lunch was in it?" gasped Belle. "We're awfully sorry!"

Bent and crippled enameled dishes from the lately fine and
completely equipped auto-hamper were scattered about in all
directions. Here and there a piece of pie could be identified,
while the chicken sandwiches were mostly recognizable by the fact
that a newly arrived yellow dog persistently gnawed at one or two
particular mud spots.

"Oh, we can go to a hotel for dinner," announced the young man,
getting back into his car.

"But they ought to pay for the hamper," grumbled Ida, loud enough
for the Robinson girls to make sure of her remark.

"We will, of course," called Bess, just as Cora and Hazel came up,
and then the Wilcox runabout darted off again.

"Table d'hote?" called Cora, laughing.

"No, a la carte," replied Bess, picking up a piece of damaged
celery, putting it on a slice of uninjured bread and proffering it
to Hazel.