“Good! Beans are the stuff in camp, all right.”
“They’re the stuff in the Palace Hotel,” said Mary. “Beans conquered the West. They won the war. They’re—”
“Oh, don’t tell me about the marvellous bean,” Andy cut in. “I’ve always been a bean hound. And I’ll bet you can cook ’em, too. You’re a wonderful cook, Mary, do you know it?”
“I’ve hinted as much to myself a couple of times,” Mary sniffed. “But I’m nothing compared with my brother Ed.” Mary was diligently searching in a pack-bag as she talked.
“That so?”
“Yes, Ed was a master cook—a chef. He worked for one of the big bean-canning factories back East until they fired him.”
“That was too bad,” Andy sympathized. “What was the difficulty?—if I’m not too inquisitive.”
“Ed killed a woman,” Mary explained, still fumbling in the bag.
Andy said nothing; the topic of their conversation seemed to be growing a little delicate.
“Killed a woman he’d never seen,” Mary added.