"Have not you been taught to look out for number one?" asked Gaspé. "I'll have a turn at that pie by myself, now I have got the chance, before I call on a chum to help me. I can tell you that."
"Confound you, you greedy young beggar!" exclaimed Vanner.
"Try thirty miles in an open sled, with twenty-five degrees of frost on the ground, and see if you would be willing to divide your pie at the end of it," retorted Gaspé.
"That is a cool way of asking for one apiece," remarked Vanner, abstracting a second pie from the storeroom shelves.
"If you've another to spare I'd like two for myself," persisted Gaspé.
"Then have it," said Vanner. "I am bound to give you a satisfaction. We do not reckon on a wedding feast every night. Now, where is the other boy? You can't object to call him. Here is a sausage as long as your arm. Walk into that."
"You will not get me to move with this dish before me," returned the undaunted Gaspé, and Vanner felt it waste of time to urge him further. He went back to his friends.
Gaspé was at Caleb Acland's door in a moment, singing through the keyhole,—
"St. George he is for England, St. Denis is for France.
Honi soit qui mal y pense."
Wilfred rose to open the door as he recognized his friend's voice.