"Afraid!" The boy tossed the word back scornfully, but his face flushed and he made no advance.
"You'll have to, now, you know!"
Max retreated.
"Oh, no, you don't!" With a quick, gay laugh, touched with the fire of battle, Blake followed; but ere he could come to close quarters, the boy had dodged and, lithe and swift as a cat, was round the table.
"No! No!" he cried, with a little gasp, a little sob of excitement that caught the breath. "No! No! I demand grace. A starving man, mon ami! A starving man! It is not fair."
He knew his adversary. Blake's hands dropped to his sides, he yielded with a laugh.
"Very well! Very well! Another time I'll see what you're made of. And now 'we'll exterminate the bread-stuffs,' as McCutcheon would say!"
And laughing, jesting—content in the moment for the moment's sake—they sat down to their first serious meal in the little salon.