“I’ll show you now,” said Bill. He followed her out the door, and his fingers closed like steel on her arm as he helped her down the steps in the dark and across the little strip of grass behind the houses. He did not release her until she was safely in her own bare, dimly-lit kitchen.
“Good evening!” he remarked to Nina, and swept off his white-covered uniform cap with a magnificent gesture. Then, without words, he dropped on one knee beside the stove, and he turned up the wick and struck a match, just as Rose had done.
“No oil in it,” he announced, rising. “I’ll get you some.”
“Mercy!” said Nina, after he had gone. “What a-an overwhelming creature!”
“Isn’t he?” Rose agreed. “He made me forget that, even if the stove ever does get lighted, there’s nothing to cook on it. I’ll have to ask him where the store is.”
“It’s dark now, Rose. You can’t go wandering about in this strange place.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do now for the sake of food!” said Rose.
There was a knock at the back door; they both called “Come in!” and Bill reëntered, letting the screen door crash behind him. He was carrying a tin of kerosene, and at once he set to work filling the stove.
“I’m very sorry to put you to all this trouble!” Nina asserted, earnestly.
He didn’t answer at all; he lit all the burners, and then: