He was a wonderful provider. I could see him heaping up my plate, and he always seemed to take the best of everything. No other girl was going to have such mammoth slices of cake as I, and he had a perfect pyramid of candy in his hand. I knew that I could never eat it all, no, not a half. Somehow he did not seem able to find me afterwards. I beckoned to him, but still he turned aside, and went toward a far corner. He was sitting down! He was going to eat the things himself! Was it a trick? I looked down hard in my lap. Never, no, never, should he make me cry out loud at a party!
I heard a sudden sound of wrath. I turned around just in time to see Theodore Otway tip the stout boy over on the floor, and sit on him. He seemed to be very angry. He pounded the stout boy. I was almost afraid to look. The woman in the white cap left off serving pink ice-cream, and made a dreadful outcry.
"Oh, Master Theodore," she cried, wringing her hands. "Oh, Master Theodore! You mustn't do that! It's not polite!"
A little boy cheered faintly, and in the next room, where the older people were having their supper, there was a hurried consultation. Then Mrs. Otway came in.
"What is all this?" she asked, in astonishment, looking as if she could not believe her eyes. "Theodore!"
She caught him by the arm, and dragged him up in a hurry.
"For shame!" she cried. "What a way to treat your company! I'm going to put you right straight to bed."
A shudder ran around the room, and we all looked at one another in horror. To be put to bed at a party! There was a disgrace.
"I don't care," Theodore retorted, recklessly, with tears in his eyes. "I'd do it again any day. He's a greedy pig!"