Whiskers & Smoke by Marian Babson Read Free Book Online Page A

don’t you come up and be our guests? About eight o’clock. It happens once a week—you’ll like it.” He met Tessa’s eyes and the coaxing note was back in his voice. “You can hold a hot dog on a stick over the campfire with one hand, can’t you? No problem. We toast marshmallows, too, for dessert. And we have a sing-song. It’s fun. You will come, won’t you?”
    â€œWell …” Both children were looking at me hopefully.
I was outnumbered, not that it mattered. I didn’t care what I did. It would be as good a way of spending an evening as any other. “Thank you, we’ll look forward to that.”
    â€œGreat!” Greg was obviously aching to say something else to Dexter but realized that any further comment might dent the image he wished to project. He turned to Celia. “I hope you and Patrick will come along, too. Luke is staying on for it and we’d love to have you.”
    â€œYes … thank you,” Celia said vaguely. “I’ll have to see whether Patrick has anything else planned.” She looked anxiously towards her husband and became more decisive. “We must be going now. We have a one o’clock reservation at Gino’s Place.”
    â€œRight!” Greg’s teeth flashed again. “These folks can see the rest of the camp tomorrow. And Dexter—” The teeth just missed grinding together as the mask slipped. “Cottage cheese salad for you—right, fella?”
    â€œSure, Greg,” Dexter said unconvincingly. “What else?”
    Â 
    Gino’s Place had been someone else’s place first; an Old Homestead converted into a restaurant, keeping as many homelike touches as possible. Gino himself greeted us at the door and led us to a table on the glassed-in side porch.
    â€œMy cousin will take care of your table,” he told Patrick. “Let me know if everything is all right. I think he is nearly trained now. If he continues to be satisfactory, I will promote him to waiting on the inside tables next week. He sulks because he isn’t there already, but he’s not as good as he thinks he is—not yet.”

    â€œYou knew you were going to have a few problems when you imported him from the Old Country,” Patrick said. “Even though he’s shaping up slowly, at least he’s shaping up—and you needed him. This is a big place to run.”
    â€œHah!” Gino laughed shortly, without mirth. “It is not big enough for Rudolfo—that’s the problem. He thought he was coming to be maître d’ of a great fashionable restaurant. An outpost of The Four Seasons, perhaps. He expected celebrities every night, four star cuisine, hundred dollar bills to light cigars with—”
    â€œThe streets paved with gold, eh?” Patrick sighed. “Do they still believe that?”
    â€œHe expected New York,” Gino said flatly. “He got New Hampshire. He must learn to live with it. Still, this is only his first summer here. Probably he will settle down.”
    â€œEarly days yet,” Celia agreed. She glanced at her watch.
    â€œRudi—” Gino called to a waiter who had just entered. “The menus for this table, please.” He bowed and left us.
    Celia evidently did not feel it incumbent on her to maintain camp discipline. She allowed Dexter to order pork chops and French fries. A lavish salad, sans cottage cheese, came as a side dish but he ignored it.
    The air-conditioning was frigid, presumably to encourage an appetite for hot meals. The prices seemed quite reasonable to me, but Patrick surveyed them with a twisted grin.
    â€œI’m not that old,” he said ruefully, “but I can remember
when a dollar bought the Blue Plate Special. These days it doesn’t even pay the tip.”
    For dessert, the rest of us ordered ice cream, but Dexter continued on his collision course with the maximum of