It occurred to Kirk for the first time that he was hungry.
'Have you got anything to eat, Steve?'
Steve brightened again.
'Have we?' he said. 'We've got everything there is in Connecticut! Why,
say, we're celebrating. This is our big day. Know what's happened?
Why, '
He stopped short, as if somebody had choked him. They had gone into the
sitting-room while he was speaking. The table was laid for supper. A
chafing-dish stood at one end, and the remainder of the available space
was filled with a collection of foods, from cold chicken to candy,
which did credit to Steve's imagination.
But it was not the sight of these that checked his flow of speech. It
was the look on Mamie's face as he caught sight of it in the lamplight.
The White Hope was sitting at the table in the attitude of one who has
heard the gong and is anxious to begin; while Mamie, bending over him,
raised her head as the two men entered and fixed Steve with a baleful
stare.
'What have you been doing to the poor mite?' she demanded fiercely, 'to
get his face scratched this way?'
There was no doubt about the scratch. It was a long, angry red line
running from temple to chin. The White Hope, becoming conscious of the
fact that the attention of the public was upon him, and diagnosing the
cause, volunteered an explanation.
'Bad boy,' he said, and looked meaningly again at the candy.
'What does he mean by 'bad boy'?'
'Just what he says, Mamie, honest. Gee! you don't think I done
it, do you?'
'Have you been letting the precious lamb fight?' cried Mamie,
her eyes two circles of blue indignation.
Steve's enthusiasm overcame his sense of guilt. He uttered a whoop.
'Letting him! Gee! Listen to her! Why, say, that kid don't have
to be let! He's a scrapper from Swatville-on-the-Bingle. Honest! That's
what all this food is about. We're celebrating. This is a little supper
given in his honour by a few of his admirers and backers, meaning me.
Why, say, Kirk, that kid of yours is just the greatest thing that ever
happened. Get that chafing-dish going and I'll tell you all about it.'
'How did he come by that scratch?' said Mamie, coldly sticking to her
point.
'I'll tell you quick enough. But let's start in on the eats first. You
wouldn't keep a coming champ waiting for his grub, would you? Look how
he's lamping that candy.'
'Were you going to let the poor mite stuff himself with candy, Steve
Dingle?'
'Sure. Whatever he says goes. He owns the joint after this afternoon.'
Mamie swiftly removed the unwholesome delicacy.
'The idea!'
Kirk was busying himself with the chafing-dish.
'What have you got in here, Steve?'
'Lobster, colonel. I had to do thirty miles to get it, too.'
Mamie looked at him fixedly.
