Tom got ahead of him at that, lifted the pot, turned up the lid, estimated the contents of the upper container, and shook his head. “The brew will be somewhat pale, methinks,” was his comment. “I say, Mr. Black, you’re no camper, are you?”
“Never had the chance. And never spent an hour learning to cook. I’m awfully humiliated, but that doesn’t help it any. It did seem simple—to boil an egg and make a slice of toast.”
“It isn’t—it’s darned complicated. Oatmeal and coffee make the scheme horribly intricate, too. I know all about it. I’ve leaped around between two campfires and frizzled my bacon to death while I rescued my coffee, and knocked over my coffee pot while I fished up the little scraps of bacon from the bottom of the frying-pan. Here—I’ll fix the coffee. Start some more toast, and we’ll hash up that hard-boiled-egg effect to lay on top, and pretend we meant it that way from the first. Along towards noon we’ll have that tray ready for the lady upstairs.”
“Tom, you’re a man and a brother. But I’m going to send you off and see this thing through alone if it takes all day.” And Black pushed him gently but firmly toward the door. Tom, laughing, found it no use to resist. He paused to lay an appraising hand on the bare forearm which was showing such unexpected strength.
“Some muscle, I’ll say. Nobody’d guess it under that clerical coat-sleeve. Look here—you’ll come over to dinner to-night, and get a square meal? Mother’ll be——”
“Tom, if you so much as mention the situation here I’ll make you pay dearly—see if I don’t! We’re all right. I’ll never make these same mistakes again. If Mrs. Hodder isn’t down by night I’ll buy a tin of baked beans. Promise you won’t give me away.”
“Oh, all right, all right. You can trust me. But I don’t see why——”
“I do—and that’s enough. Good-bye, Tom.”
They went through the hall arm in arm, parted at the door, and Tom ran back to his car. “You’re some Scotchman, Robert Black,” he said to himself. “But I wish you’d let me make that coffee.”
It was nine-thirty by the kitchen clock when Mrs. Hodder received her breakfast tray. She had managed, smotheredly groaning, to don a wrapper, and to comb her iron-gray locks, so that according to her ideas of propriety she might decently admit her employer to her rigidly neat apartment.