“Mrs. Jennings, I haven’t put the camp on half-rations yet.” Bruce was mutinous at last.
The bride drew herself up and reared back from the waist-line until she looked all of seven feet tall. The row of short locks that hung down like a row of fish-hooks beneath a knob of black hair seemed to stand out straight and the window rattled in its casing as she swarmed down on Bruce.
“Look a here, young feller, I don’t need no boss to tell me how much to cook!”
Jennings protested mildly:
“Now don’t you go and git upset, Babe.”
“Babe” turned upon him savagely:
“And don’t you go to takin’ sides! I’m used to livin’ good an’ when I think what I give up to come down here to this hole—”
“I know ’taint what you’re used to,” Jennings agreed in a conciliatory tone.
Smaltz took this occasion to ostentatiously inspect a confection the upper and lower crusts of which stuck together like two pieces of adhesive plaster.