“Some,” thought the lad, “to have noted him a few moments ago, would have fancied him a chap of rare wit and good nature. But it was only while trying to hold up another to ridicule. Now that the point of his wit has been turned, he is ill-tempered enough.”
Hawkins paced the floor of the coffee room impatiently. Ben and the Porcupine ordered and ate their supper at a table near the fire.
“A beefsteak pie,” remarked the dwarf, “is a dish not to be ill considered. I know of nothing that affords a hungry stomach more satisfaction.”
Ben watched the blaze dart up the huge throat of the chimney; the logs crackled and the fire roared; the boy stretched his booted legs out toward it with a sigh.
“After a long day on the road,” said he, “the fire is as good as the food. And,” with a glance around, “the room is as satisfying as either.”
It was some little time since they had sat down to their meal, and quite a number of persons had come and gone. So when Ben cast his eyes about it is not at all surprising that he should notice some of the newcomers. Suddenly he sat erect.
“Hello!” said he.
“What now?” asked the Porcupine.
“I see that one of Mr. Hawkins’ friends has arrived.”
The dwarf screwed his head around so that he might see; and when he had done so he whistled lowly.