“Theodore!” his aunt exclaimed again. The indistinguishable convivial sound welled, becoming laughter. Mrs. Maurier roved her astonished eyes. “What can they be doing?”
Mr. Talliaferro moved deferentially, tactfully. “If you wish—?”
“Oh, Mr. Talliaferro, if you would be so kind,” Mrs. Maurier accepted with emotion.
“Let the steward go, Aunt Pat. Let’s eat,” the niece said, thrusting Jenny forward. “Come on, Pete. Gimme your hat,” she added, offering to take it. Pete refused to surrender it.
“Wait,” the nephew interjected, “I’ll get ’em up.” He picked up the thick plate and flipping his grapefruit hull overboard he turned sideways in his chair and hammered a brisk staccato on the deck with the dish.
“Theodore!” his aunt exclaimed for the third time. “Mr. Talliaferro, will you—” Mr. Tal
