Miss Lucy smiled again. The little lad with his honest, outspoken ways interested her greatly. She remembered that when she was a child herself she had used to wish her dinners might always begin with the dessert. But they never had. She resolved that Towsley should escape this disappointment of her own early days, and drawing the pie toward her divided it into quarters. It was a large pie and might easily have been served in eighths without any skimpiness; but she gave him a quarter. Then she offered him the cheese, which he declined by a negative wave of his grimy hand; his mouth being at the instant too much occupied for speech.
Before Miss Armacost had carved a slice of beef, as a second course for the young gentleman, his pie plate was empty.
“Would you like another piece, Towsley?”
“I’d like it, if you can spare it.”
“Oh! certainly. I am glad you enjoy it. Chloe does make rather nice pastry, I think.”
“Should say she did! Is that the black one, ’at stuck her head in the door curtain and sniffed?”
“She is the black one. Yes. I did not observe the sniffing.”
The lad did not explain. He was biting the last mouthful from the second quarter of the pie, which he had held in his hand as he ate it. This was the custom at the sidewalk table where he generally dined, and where forks were things unknown.
Miss Armacost gazed at the boy in astonishment. He had now consumed a half pie, yet seemed as eager as ever. She resolved that he should have the whole of it, if he so desired, but that she would instil a bit of instruction along with the mince-meat. She placed the third quarter upon a fresh plate and ostentatiously laid a fork beside it.
Towsley accepted this third portion and being in less haste attempted to use the fork, as Miss Lucy’s action had suggested. He succeeded fairly well, considering his inexperience, and his hostess was delighted by his aptness. As soon as the third piece had disappeared she gave him the fourth, and all that remained.