"Here, Mamie, you carry the cup, and go shares in the tea."
"I don't like tea," protested Mamie. "If I can't have coffee I want some milk."
"Well, now, you wait a little bit, and you'll be tickled to death to see what I'll bring you. But drink the tea. It's good an' hot. Skip inside, both of you."
He held the door partly open and they vanished. He heard Mrs. Taylor say:
"Didn't I tell you those two little dears would do their own business best."
He regained the service-room to find Brand steeping the remains of his biscuit in an almost empty cup. The lighthouse-keeper greeted his young friend with a smile.
"I suppose that you, like the rest of us, never had such an appetite in all your days?" he said.
"Oh, I'm pretty well fixed," said Pyne, with responsive grin.
"Then you are fortunate. There is usually a wretched little fiend lurking in a man's inner consciousness which prompts him to desire the unattainable. Now, I am a poor eater as a rule, yet this morning I feel I could tackle the toughest steak ever cut off a superannuated cow."
"I don't deny," admitted Pyne, "that the idea of a steak sounds good. That is, you know," he went on languidly, "it might sort of appeal to me about one o'clock."