She was in a kimono, and had her hair down; evidently she had obeyed the professor implicitly in the matter of going to sleep.
"Oh!" she said, "I don't know where Marion is--as usual; but I can have luncheon ready in a very short time, I'm sure.

Is the fire--" "'Luncheon!'" snorted Fred, laughing a little.

"Don't you palm off any luncheon on us! That sounds like a dab of salad and a dab of sauce and two peas in a platter and a prayer for dinner to hurry up and come around! Cook us some grub, old girl--lots of it.

Coffee and bacon and flour gravy and spuds.

We'd rather wait a few minutes longer and get a square meal, wouldn't we, boys?
Make yourselves at home.