"Sit down," said McAllister, and for the second time master and man shared a meal.
The little room was bare of decoration except for some colored lithographs and wood-cuts, which for the most part represented the funeral corteges of distinguished Americans, with a few hospital scenes and the sinking of a steamship. A rug soiled to a dull drab made a sort of mud spot before the fireplace; a knitted tidy, suggestive of the antimacassar, ornamented the only rocker; at one end stood the stove, and hard by two fixed tubs. Everything except the carpet was scrupulously clean.
Miss Higgins brought to the table a dish of steaming boiled eggs, half a loaf of white bread, and a vegetable dish with a large piece of butter.
"I'll have some coffee for ye in a minute," she remarked as she placed the dishes before them.
McAllister broke some of the eggs into a tumbler and cut the bread.
"What might be your business?" inquired Miss Higgins.
"Er—well—" hesitated McAllister. "I've travelled quite a bit."
"I had a cousin in the hardware line," remarked the hostess reminiscently. "He travelled everywheres. Has it ever taken you ez fur as St. Louis?"
"No," said McAllister. "My line never took me so far."
"Andrew died there—of the water. What's your business?" continued Miss Higgins to Wilkins.