Yes, it certainly was coffee—good coffee, and there was a subdued rustle and stir beyond the door leading into the kitchen.
Why, of course! He was being “seen to.” Pegeen had come back.
He had not really expected her, but he might have known she was not one to put her hand to the plow and look back.
Incidentally it might be well for him to arise and shine. The Young Person who had adopted him had intimated that, if the weather cleared over night, he would be expected to paint out of doors and let her clean his quarters. When she got ready to clean she would probably clean, and he must breakfast and make his escape.
Queer how mad women, even very small women, were about cleaning things. No man could stand against them when the sacred rage possessed them. He would not think of attempting it. No more comfortable and unashamed grubbiness. He was going to be kept clean, whether he would or no. He had seen it in the gleam of Peggy’s eye. When she saw to people, she saw to them.
There was a whimsical smile on the face the man turned toward the kitchen, but his eyes were very kind. On the whole, he was rather glad he had been taken in hand. He liked the Very Small Person and there was something pleasant about awakening to an aroma of coffee and a smell of toast.
He made a hasty toilet and looked into the kitchen.
“You ready?” said Pegeen, briskly. “I forgot to ask you last night when you wanted breakfast, so I just decided to have it at eight. I’d have called you, only I heard you moving around. How d’ you like your boiled eggs?”
“I have a theory that I like them cooked two minutes,” said Archibald, humbly, “but I’ve never been able to get them that way.”
“Well, you’ll get them now. She likes hers coddled.”