an' I can't leave while I 'm busy." He leaned back and chuckled. "Lucky me! If Hoppy had gone an' picked Johnny to argue with th' agent for three whole days where would I be? But I gotta keep Johnny outa here, th' son-of-a-gun. He ain't like me—he likes girls; an' he ain't bashful."
He picked up a paper lying on a chair near him and looked it over until the kitchen door squeaked. She carried a tray covered with a snow-white napkin which looked like a topographical map with its mountains and valleys and plains. His chuckle was infectious to the extent of a smile and her eyes danced as she placed his dinner before him.
"Betcha it's fine," he grinned, shoveling sugar into the inky coffee. "Blinky oughta have a good look at this layout."
"Don't be too sure," she retorted. "Mrs. Olmstead is sick and I 'm taking charge of things for her. I 'm not a good cook."
"Nothin 's th' matter with this," he assured her between bites. "Lots better 'n most purty
