"It's a one-man job."
John Wilson reclined in an easy chair while Ted went into the kitchen. He put a great slab of butter in a skillet, let it brown, seasoned the brace of woodcock, put them into the pan, covered it and turned the flame lower. He prepared a fresh pot of coffee, biscuits, potatoes and a vegetable. All the while, he waited nervously for Tammie to whine at the door. There'd have to be some nice timing when the collie returned. Ted must slip out, strip the harness off and let the dog in without letting John Wilson know he'd worn a harness.
When the meal was ready and Tammie still had not come, Ted's nervousness mounted. The dog was a half hour late already. What could have happened out in the Mahela? Ted put the dinner on the table and tried to sound casual as he announced, "Chow's ready."
"This is 'chow'?" John Wilson chided him. "Butter-browned woodcock is deserving of a better name. Let me at it!"
He cut a slice of the dark breast and began to eat it. "Mm-m! That's good! Something wrong, Ted?"
"Yes—uh—That is, no."
"You're nervous as a wet cat."
"My dog's out and I'm a little worried about—There he is now! Go right ahead and eat."
Tammie's whine sounded again and Ted slipped out the back door. Hastily he knelt to strip the harness off and take Al's note from the pocket. Then he threw the harness aside—he'd get it in the early morning—tucked the note in his pocket and, with Tammie beside him, went into the house. John Wilson stopped eating to admire.
"That's a beautiful collie. What's his name?"