There was a tentative quality in the statement, an attempt to carry off easily a situation capable of unpleasant developments, a studied ignoring of his captor's possible right to detain him. But Corrie swung around with a face of open sunniness that shamed suspicion, his hands in the pockets of his long overcoat.
"Good enough! Did you find what you liked, or rather, like what you found?" he responded.
The hard face relaxed into a reluctant humor, the man looked again to assure himself of the inquirer's seriousness.
"The best ever," he essayed social graciousness. "I ain't left much. Your little caramels were fine."
"Caramels? Who on earth put in caramels? Armand must have lost his mind! What kind of caramels?"
"Wrapped in tin paper, they were, in a little tin box."
"Wrapped——Holy cats, Gerard, he has eaten the concentrated bouillon squares! They were not to eat, man; they were to be dissolved in a cup of boiling water, to drink."
"They tasted all right. I guess they'll go. I'll be movin'."
"Go? Well, I hope so; you must have enough concentrated beef in you to nourish an army. You are going, you say. Where to?"