Three hours later he drove in before the stopping-house, and, hitching his team to the tree, left them a little hay to while the time. The "resteraw" was empty. Other breakfast guests had come and gone.
"Oh, Bela!" he cried.
She stuck her head in the other door. Her expression was severely non-committal.
"Bela, my stomach's as empty as a stocking on the floor! I feel like a drawn chicken. For the love of mercy fill me up!"
"It's half-past eight," she said coldly.
"I know, but I had to load up before I could come. A couple of slices of breakfast bacon and a cup of coffee! Haven't tasted coffee in months. They say your coffee is a necktie for the gods!"
"I can't be cooking all day!" said Bela, flouncing out.
Nevertheless he heard the stove-lids clatter outside, and the sound of the kettle drawn forward. He was going to get fresh coffee at that!
In a few minutes it was set before him; not only the coffee with condensed milk, a luxury north of fifty-four, but fried fish as well, and a plate of steaming cakes. Sam fell to with a groan of ecstasy. Bela stood for a moment watching him with her inscrutable, detached air, then turned to go out.
"I say," called Sam with his mouth full, "pour yourself a cup of coffee, and come and drink it with me."