"You can light the lamp," he said, "while I make a fire."
Quin was willing to oblige, but the lamp was not. It put up a stubborn resistance to all efforts to coax it to do its duty.
"I bet it hasn't been filled," said Cass; then, after the fashion of mankind, he lifted his voice in supplication to the nearest feminine ear:
His older sister, coming to the rescue, agreed with his diagnosis of the case, and with Quin's assistance 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 apron 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 button around your little neck," she told him, smiling. "Turn round; I'll fix it."
"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 rushing from kitchen to dining-room, with many collisions and some upsets.
Quin was in the highest of spirits. Even Cass had never seen him quite like this. With his white apron 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."
"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 Cass ever told you about Nell?"
"Do you suppose I spend my time talking about my precious family?" growled Cass.