Why, the first time I made biscuits, do you know what
dad said?"
"No, but I can imagine," said Grace, who had also been regarding the
operation, "judging from what dad and Will would have remarked."
"Well, he said," Betty continued, patting the last biscuit into its
appointed place and regarding her work with satisfaction, "he said the
best thing I could do with them would be to pack them and send them to
the old country to use in some of the new howitzers or something like
that they are getting out. How is that for a slam?"
"Well, I shouldn't wonder," said Grace wickedly, "if he were justified."
Betty turned and shot a reproachful glance at her friend. "Just for
that, Grace," she said, "I ought to say you can't have any of
these--works of art," indicating the pan she was putting into the oven.
"Why do you girls stand around staring at me anyway?" she added, a
sudden note of impatience in her voice. "Why don't you do something to
earn your living? Set the table or get the water boiling for the eggs. I
can't do everything--now scatter! If you were all as hungry as I am you
wouldn't wait to be told.
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