The girl flinched.
He grunted disgustedly, his face mirroring his thoughts. Stringy hair ... plain face ... and soft as Venus slime clear through! He shrugged. "Anyway, he's got to eat." He looked at the small figure. "Want to eat, kid? Would you like a glass of milk?" He opened a refrigerator, took out a plastic bottle and poured milk in a glass.
Chubby hands reached out for the glass.
"There, that's better," the cook said. "Pete will see that you get fed all right." He turned to the girl. "Could he belong to someone around here?"
Jane shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen him before."
"Well, he can stay in the kitchen while you work the shift. I'll watch him."
She nodded, took an apron down from a hook and tied it around her waist. Then she patted the sober-faced youngster on his tousled head and left.
The beefy man studied the boy. "I think I'll put you over there," he said. He lifted him, stool and all, and carried him across the kitchen. "You can watch through that panel. See? That's Jane in there. She'll come back and forth, pass right by here. Is that all right?"
The little one nodded.
"Oh?" Pete raised his eyebrows. "So you do know what I'm saying." He watched the child for a few minutes, then turned his attention to the range. The rush hour was on and he soon forgot the little boy on the stool ...