“Yes. He hates them worse than anything.”
The cigarette stump was hastily picked up by its owner.
“Where'll I put it?” he asked, hurriedly.
“Why don't you—Oh, don't put it in your pocket! It will set you on fire. Put it in the stove, quick.”
Into the stove it went, all but its fragrance, which lingered.
“Do you think you COULD find me that hook?” asked the girl.
“I'll try. I don't know anything about the confounded things.”
“Oh!” innocently. “Don't you?”
“No, of course I don't. Why should I?”
“Aren't you working here?”