XII. THE RETURN OF “OLD KAZOOZER”
I'm much obliged to you, Peter,” said Booge after a minute, “but I'm afraid I can't stay. I got a telegram saying Caruso's got a cold and I've got to go to New York and sing grand opry.”
“You 're real welcome to stay,” said Peter, warming his hands over the stove. “I'd like you to stay. That feller is sure to come back.”
“He's got a court order,” said Booge. “I guess he heard you was so kind hearted you'd hand Buddy right over to him and say, Thank you, mister.' I surprised him.” Booge looked at Buddy, playing on the floor.
“Ain't it funny how you get attached to a kid?” he asked. “I was just as mad when that old kazoozer said he was going to take Buddy as if he was after my own boy, instead of yours.”
“I guess they think this ain't a good enough home for him,” said Peter.
He looked about the cabin with new interest. To Peter it had seemed all that a home need be, and he had been proud of it and satisfied with it, but now it looked poor and shabby. There were no chairs with tidies on them, no chairs at all; there was no piano lamp; nor even a hanging lamp with prisms; no carpet, not even a rug. It was not a “good home,” it was only a shanty-boat, not much better than any other shanty-boat, and it was not even Peter's shanty-boat. It was George Rapp's.
Booge was ramming his belongings into his valise.
“Not a good enough home?” he growled.
“What do they want for a home? A town hall or an op'ry house?”