“Ugh!” he said. “I thought so. Now I like decent coffee, and I’ll buy a coffee-pot just to make my coffee in. Do you suppose you could keep it, so that termagant in the kitchen wouldn’t annex it?”
“You bet I can,” giggled the girl delightedly, “an’ I’ll do it, too, jus’ to spite Sarah. An’ I’ll make your coffee every morning. I’d love to, Mr. Whitcomb.”
“Good girl,” drawled David. He waved his hand toward the table. “You may as well take these things away,” he said. “I’m—er—not hungry this morning.”
The girl’s face fell; her full lips quivered and pouted like a child’s on the verge of sobbing.
“I made the toast,” she said. “I made it jus’ like you said. It—it’s good.”
David uncovered the plate hastily.
“It looks fine, Jennie; but you see it’s so near dinner-time—see here, my girl, you buy the coffee-pot for me; will you?—just a plain tin one, mind. And—er—keep the change.”
He threw a crisp bill on the table.
The girl took up the money and folded it together carefully. When she raised her blue eyes they were swimming in tears.
“I—I’ll do anythin’ you say,” she whimpered, “anythin’ you want me to.”