"There's ham
an' bread an' pie,--plum,--enough for two. Thee'll not want to eat
alone?" anxiously.
"I never do," he said, gruffly. "The old buster's savage on
pie,--gettin' fat on it, I tell you, Jane, though his jaws are like
nut-crackers yet."
Andy had dropped into one of the few ruts of talk in which his brain
could jog easily along; he began, as usual, to rub the knees of his
trousers smooth, and to turn the quid of tobacco in his mouth.
Jane, oddly enough, did not remind him that it was time to go, but
stood, not heeding him, leaning on the wheel, drawing a buckle in the
harness tighter.
"He! he!" giggled Andy, "if you'd seen him munch the pastry an' biscuit,
an' our biggest cuts of tenderloin, an' then plank down his pennies to
Mis' Wart here, thinkin' he'd paid for all! Innocent as a staggerin'
calf, that old chap! Says I to him last week, when we were leavin' the
market, havin' my joke, says I,--
"'Pervisions is goin' down, Mr. Starke.'
"'It hadn't occurred to me, Andrew,' he says, in his dazed way. 'But you
know, doubtless,' says he, with one of his queer bows, touchin' the
banged old felt he sticks on the back of his head.
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