The pliant host needed no more. He was tinder to such a spark.
"Get a quarter's worth, Howard," and the slave bounded off, to return with a splendid rosy garland of the stuff, still warm and odorous.
Again the new knife of Merle was used. The now widely diffused scent of bologna reached the three watchers, and appeared to madden one of them beyond any restraint of good manners. He sauntered toward them, pretending not to notice the banquet until he was upon it. He was a desperate-appearing fellow—dark, saturnine, with a face of sullen menace.
"Give us a hunk," he demanded.
He should have put it more gently. He should have condescended a little to the amenities, for his imperious tone at once dried a generous spring of philanthropy. He was to regret this lack of a mere superficial polish that would have cost him nothing.
"Ho! Go buy it like we did!" retorted the host, crisply.
"Is that so?" queried the newcomer with rising warmth.
"Yes, sat's so!"
"Who says it's so?"
"I say it's so!"