Then her face lighted up again. The delighted bob of her head with which she greeted that name astonished the man.
"Do you—why, you must have heard of Joe," he exclaimed.
Mischief danced again in the dark eyes.
"Joe Morgan," she laughed. "'Fat Joe,' isn't it? And of course I have heard of him. You don't realize it, but I know more about this East Coast work and—and the men who are doing it, than I had any idea myself. Why, I'll wager that you never knew, yourself, that he once wrote in to the officials insisting that the entry of his name on the files be changed from 'Joe Morgan, cook,' to 'Joseph Morgan, assistant to Chief O'Mara'!"
Steve's chuckle of appreciation was answer enough.
"I didn't know," he admitted, "but it's like him. And it was no more than reasonable, either—that request—even if it is funny. He has been cook for me; but he's been doctor and nurse and countless other things in as many crises. He's the most trustworthy and capable adviser, too, that any man ever had."
She scanned his face closely at the timbre of those words. Then, with face averted, "Didn't he embroider you a—a sofa-cushion, too, once?" she inquired, quite demurely.
Steve grew very red.
"Who told you that?" he blurted, and Barbara giggled again.
"Mr. Ainnesley, I think. Then it is true? I—I never believed it before."