"Well, what did you come for, old chum?" he asked, smiting her shoulder with rough friendliness. "Not to complain of this slow old hole, I bet?"
"Get me something to eat, and I'll tell you."
"Oh, hang, Kitty! I can't. Cook will swear, or go to the mother, or something. Can't you wait till you get home?"
"No, I can't. And I didn't tell you to go to cook, or to her; did I, stupid? Isn't there a pantry window, and isn't the larder next to the pantry, and aren't the servants having breakfast in the kitchen, out of the way? Eh?"
"Well, I'm bothered! But I can't get up to that window, anyhow."
"There's a loose brick just below, and you know it, you lazy boy! What's the use of being exactly six foot, if you can't climb into a window on the ground floor? I can, and I'm only five foot four. Oh, you needn't bother, if you're afraid! I can keep my news, for that matter."
"I don't believe there is any news. Why, I only saw you yesterday afternoon. And nothing ever happens in Ivingdon. You are only rotting, aren't you, Kit?"
"All right; I don't want to tell you, I'm sure. Good-bye," said Katharine, without moving a step.
He called himself a fool, and told her she was a beastly nuisance, and that of course there wasn't any news, and he didn't want to hear it if there was. And he finally strolled round to the pantry window, as she knew he would, and returned with a medley of provisions in his hands. They laughed together at the odd selection he had made,—at the cold pie he was balancing on a slice of bread, and the jam tart that crowned the jug of milk; and they fought over everything like two young animals, and drank out of the same jug and spilled half its contents, and ended in chasing one another round the paddock for no reason whatever.
"Walk home with me, and I'll tell you the news. Come on, Ted!" she cried.