any if you’re not, but he’ll have a new kitchen boy.”
Stanley heard this final bit of advice with a grimace, and Bub approaching a perspiring man stirring something in a kettle said, “This is your new boy, Cook.”
“Git out of my way, or I’ll scald ye,” cried the cook, not raising his eyes from the kettle.
“He goes on tomorrow morning. I’ll tell him what to do,” continued Bub, in no way abashed.
“Out of this kitchen or I’ll be the death of ye,” bawled the cook.
“There! we’ve fixed that all right,” enthusiastically cried Bub as they gained the open air. “You’d had a disagreeable time if I hadn’t gone in to break the ice. When I began in there I didn’t have a soul to speak a good word for me.”
“And you call that a cordial welcome?” asked Stanley, his voice trembling.
Bub’s eyes widened in surprise. “Did you expect him to throw his arms around you and kiss you?” he at last inquired.
Stanley was too depressed to resent the scorn in Bub’s tone and he could only say, “Threatened to scald me!”
“But he didn’t hurt you, did he? Words
