'Gracious! Give me one of them!' said the Captain, hurrying to the
rescue.
But Mr. Strang, putting down the right-hand scuttle, to take breath,
warned him off.
'Thank you, Chicksands--but no brass hats need apply! Many
thanks--but you're too smart!' He pointed, panting, to the red tabs
and to the bit of variegated ribbon on Chicksands' broad chest. 'Go
and help Pamela bring in the dinner.'
The Captain obeyed with alacrity.
'All the servants left on Monday,' said Pamela. 'We had a charwoman
this morning, but she's gone to-night, because there's a new moon.'
'What--raids?'
Pamela nodded as she gave him the soup, with instructions to carry
it carefully and put it by the fire. She seemed to be in her gayest
mood, and Chicksands' eyes followed her perpetually as she went
backwards and forwards on her household tasks. Presently Mrs. Strang
appeared, crimson from the fire, bearing the fishpie and vegetables
that were to provide the rationed meal.
'To think,' said Mr. Strang, when they were at last at table, 'that
there was a time when we were proud of our "little dinners," and
that I never made myself unpleasant unless Margaret spent more than
five pounds on the food alone.
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