“No,” said Buddy.
Peter looked at the woman, studying her. It might have been possible that she was insane, but the vivid red of her cheeks convinced him she was delirious with fever. Her hat, askew over one ear, gave Peter a feeling of shame for her, and he put Buddy down and walked to the bunk. He saw that the hat pin had made a cruel scratch along her cheek.
“Now, ma'am,” he said, “I'm just going to help you off with this hat, because it's getting all mashed up, and it ain't needed in the house.”
He put out his hand to take the hat, but the woman raised herself on one arm, and with the other fist struck Peter full in the face, so that he staggered back against the table, while she swore at him viciously.
“You hadn't ought to do that,” he said reprovingly; “I wasn't going to hurt you.”
“I know you!” shouted the woman in a rage. “I know you! You can't come any of that over me! You took Susie, you beast, but you don't get Buddy. Let me get at you!”
She tried to clamber from the bunk, but fell back coughing.
“Now, you are absolutely wrong, ma'am,” said Peter earnestly. “You've got me placed entirely wrong. I ain't the man you think I am at all. I'm the man that got something for Buddy to eat last night. You recall that, don't you?”
The woman looked at him craftily.
“Where's Buddy?” she asked.