Part 30 (1/2)
”Oh!” Millie gasped. ”Oh--then what--”
What Millie was going to say was lost in a general chorus of delighted exclamations.
”Oh, Lem,” cried Mrs. Jones, ”won't you let me do the cooking? I'm just dyin' to get back into that kitchen again!”
”Well, I know what your cooking is like, mother,” replied Townsend, smiling; ”and if you really want to go out there and cook that supper, I say it would be a crime to stop you!”
”Let's all help!” exclaimed little Mrs. Harper, who looked as if she would not have the faintest idea what to do in a kitchen.
”Fine!” echoed her amused husband. ”Come on, folks!”
Mrs. Jones led the way, and they all went out through the dining-room and into the kitchen, bent on making a home of the place for the first time since the new regime went into effect.
CHAPTER XX
The dapper Peters was left alone at his desk, but not for long. In a few minutes the street door opened and Bill Jones, with a certain air about him--one might even say with a certain flourish in his manner--sauntered in. He ambled up to the desk.
”Who might you be?” he asked, casually, his half-shut eyes making an inventory of Peters.
”I'm the manager!” Peters snapped.
”No, you ain't,” said Bill, grinning.
”What's the reason I ain't?” inquired Peters.
”Because you're fired,” said Bill, calmly, turning his back and putting his hands in his pockets. He gazed slowly around from floor to ceiling, and then at the walls. Peters came from behind the desk and stood close to him.
”Say, Mrs. Jones pulled something like that on me,” he said, ”but I ain't taking no orders from you people! I take my orders from Mr.
Hammond!”
”Is that so?” asked Bill, nonchalantly. Drawing a letter from his pocket, he handed it to the clerk. ”Well, here they are!” he said.
Peters opened the letter and read it.
”Well, if I'm fired,” he sighed, ”I suppose I can go back to my old job.”
A stealthy foot on the floor made Bill turn around to greet Zeb, who had put his head in the door.
”Got a segar for me, Bill?” Zeb whispered.
Bill went over to the drawer in the California desk, where he knew there was a box of cigars. He took one, extending it to Zeb. But the latter, looking toward the dining-room, saw Millie coming, and in spite of the fact that he wanted that cigar as desperately as he had ever wanted anything, force of habit sent him scuttling out of the room as he warned Bill, hoa.r.s.ely, ”Look out!”
Bill called him back. ”What you 'fraid of? It's only Millie.”
”Well,” said Zeb, intrepid enough to grab the cigar, but not brave enough to stay, ”I'll see you to-morrow, when the women-folks is working. It's safer then.”
Millie rushed over and took Bill in her arms, kissing him again and again, while Bill, unused to such demonstration, tried to disengage himself.