I was appalled by the hue and cry that my half-circle of pastry had occasioned, and more than a little fearful of the consequences if the truth ever should transpire; but the pie in hand was compensation for many such intangible difficulties in the future, and I was making great inroads on a wedge of it, when I thought I heard a sound outside the window, which the cook had masked with a piece of paper.
I stopped to listen and saw that Frank had heard it too. It was a scratchy sound as if some one were trying to unship the glass.
"Massy sake!" my host gasped, taking his vile pipe out of his mouth.
Although it was quite impossible for pallor to make any visible impression on his surpassing blackness, he obviously was much disturbed.
"Gobble dat pie, boy," he gasped, "gobble up ev'y crumb an' splinter."
Now, as the scratchy noise sounded at the door, the cook laid his pipe on a shelf and glanced up at a big carving-knife that hung from a rack above his head.
"Who's dah?" he demanded cautiously.
"Lemme in," said a mild, low voice, "I want some o' that pie."
"Massy sake!" the cook gasped in disgust, "ef it ain't dat no 'count
Kipping."
"Lemme in," persisted the mild, plaintive voice. "Lemme in."