Mamie clapped her hands. Then she sprang from her chair, flew around the table, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“Allan, you’re a dear!” she cried. “A perfect dear!”
It was at this moment that the door opened and Jack Welsh came in, grinning broadly as he saw the tableau at the table.
“Mary,” he said, “it seems to me that Mamie’s gittin’ t’ be a very forrerd sort o’ body. It’s scandalous th’ way she runs arter th’ boys.”
“Only arter one boy, Jack,” corrected his wife, “an’ I don’t care how much she runs arter him. But how did ye happen t’ git home so early?”
“I was hungerin’ fer a sight o’ your black eyes, me darlint,” answered Jack, winking at Allan, and he passed his arm about his wife’s trim waist and gave her a tremendous hug.
“Go way, ye blarney!” she cried, beating him off. “Do ye wonder your child’s forrerd when her father sets her sich an example? An’ I s’pose you’ll be wantin’ your supper now. Well, it ain’t ready!”
“No,” said Jack, releasing her, “I’ve got t’ go back t’ th’ yards first t’ see th’ roadmaster. I’ll be back in about half an hour. Come along, Allan, if you’re goin’.”
Allan put on coat and hat, picked up the luncheon-basket, which Mary had already packed for him, kissed Mamie again, and followed Jack down the steep path which led to the street. He turned at the gate to wave good-bye to Mary and Mamie, who stood watching them from the door above, then followed Jack across the maze of tracks toward the station.