For the Honor of Randall Part 20

"It can't be Lem Sellig," ventured Helen.

"Oh, come on, let's find a good place to eat lunch," proposed Ruth, with a laudable desire to change the embarra.s.sing subject. "Maybe Tom will come along later. We must save him some."

"Not too much," objected Phil. "We're hungry, and he could just as well have been here on time as not."

"Phil, haven't you any sense?" his sister managed to whisper to him.

"Can't you see that something has happened?"

"What?" asked Phil, innocently enough. Phil never was strong on intrigue.

"Oh! Stupid, I'll tell you later!" whispered Ruth. "Don't say anything more now."

"That's right," admitted Phil good-naturedly. "Every time I open my mouth I put my foot in it, as the poet says."

They all laughed--rather constrainedly it is true, and more than one glance was directed toward Madge Tyler and her companion ere they disappeared amid the trees whence came the shouts and laughter of the parties that had come on the May walk.

"And that's why Tom didn't want to get dressed, and come with us,"

murmured Phil in Sid's ear when he got a chance. "He and Madge had a quarrel."

"I guess so. But who's she with?"

"Give it up. Pa.s.s the pickles; will you?"

Thus Phil got rid of his friend's worriment.

"Oh!" suddenly screamed Ruth, as she made a quick movement away from where the table cloth was spread out. "Oh, take it away, somebody! Do!"

"What is it?" asked Sid solicitously. "A snake?"

"I don't know, but it's something big and black. I just saw it moving under the edge of that plate of cocoanut macaroons. Oh!"

"I don't know what it is," spoke Sid, as he reached his hand out toward the plate, "but be it a veritable salamander I'll take it away. Those macaroons are too good to let a creeping or crawling thing make off with them. Come out, you villain!" he shouted, and lifted up the plate.

Something black, with whirring wings flew out from its hiding place under the plate. It made straight for Phil who, not exactly from fear, but from instinct, dodged. It was a fatal error for he lunged over toward the gla.s.s jar of lemonade and, a moment later, the beverage had upset, some of it flying over into the lap of Ruth.

"There, look what you've done!" she cried to her brother. "And this was my best dress, too! It's ruined!"

She began wiping up the spots of lemonade with her handkerchief.

"It'll come out," consoled Phil, as he turned to look at the flight of the fluttering insect. "Take a little vinegar, or--er--something like that."

"Lemonade's an acid, and it needs an alkali to take it out," declared Frank. "Vinegar is an acid too. It isn't a case of like curing like in this case."

"How do you know?" demanded Sid. "Did you ever take spots out of dresses?"

"No, but I did out of a pair of white trousers that had the same sort of a bath as Ruth's dress got," declared the Big Californian. "It worked fine, too."

"I think lemonade is neutral," put in Phil. "At least this is, for there's none left. Sorry I spoiled the party."

"Oh, there's more," spoke Helen. "I brought along a jar in my basket.

Pa.s.s it over, will you please, Phil."

The additional supply of lemonade was broached and they fell to talking merrily again, though there was an undercurrent of suspense noticeable.

It was clear that the girls did not know what to make of the absence of Madge, and they tried to cover it up by gay laughter.

"Well, you didn't happen to bring along any more sandwiches; did you Helen?" asked Phil with a sigh, as he finished his--well, but what's the use in telling on a fellow, and keeping track of the number of sandwiches he eats? Suppose Phil did have a good appet.i.te?

"Oh, Phil!" cried his sister. "You don't mean to say you're going to eat more; are you?"

"I am if I can get 'em to eat," was his cool answer. "Some olives, too.

You didn't, by any chance, I suppose, Helen, put another bottle in that never-failing basket of yours; did you?"

"I certainly did," she answered with a laugh. "I knew you boys would be hungry."

"They're never otherwise," declared Ruth.

"Cruel sister, to treat her little brother so," commented Phil, as he used the corkscrew on the bottle of olives, while Helen got out more sandwiches.

There was a sudden pop, and the olive bottle cork came out so unexpectedly that Phil, who was kneeling down to perform that delicate operation, went over backward, while Frank let out a cry of dismay.

"My eye! Oh, my eye!" he exclaimed, holding his hand to his face.

"What's the matter with it?" demanded Sid anxiously. "Did a piece of cork get in it?"

"No, but about a gallon of that olive juice did!" retorted the afflicted one, as he used his handkerchief vigorously. "You did that on purpose, Phil."

"I did not. The cork came out before I was ready for it. I don't see why they put 'em in so tight."

"All right, only don't do it again," begged Frank. "Say, but it smarts!

I wonder what olive juice is made of, anyhow. I mean the stuff they swim the green fruit in."

"Nothing but salt and water," declared Phil.

"Nonsense. It's sulphuric acid, to say the least," declared Frank. "It feels so in my eye, anyhow. I wonder if they're French or Italian olives?"

"What difference does it make?" asked Sid.

"Lots. I never can bear French olives, and I wouldn't have the juice of them in my eye for anything."

"Oh get out!" laughed Phil. "They're Italian all right. Pa.s.s the mustard for the sandwiches, and let's get this over with."

"I thought you liked it," spoke his sister.

"So I do, but if any more accidents happen I'll lose my appet.i.te." And so the merry lunch went on.

The May walk was a great success--at least so nearly every one voted.

If there were some who had little heart-burnings it was but natural perhaps, and they would not last long. Miss Philock was at her best, and allowed the girls under her charge more than the usual liberties.

There was more or less formality connected with the affair, and some note-taking in regard to the flora encountered along the way was required. But it was, in most cases, the very smallest minimum that would serve to get the necessary cla.s.s marks.