“What’s wrong?” asked Titus, bluntly.
“O, nothing—nothing,” replied Dallas, with a wave of his hand. “Only that I would have preferred it whole. I should have said so; it was stupid in me.”
“Have you any more?” said Titus to Higby.
“Yes, sir; a whole joint.”
“Then take that away and get an uncut piece.”
The English boy’s face lighted up strangely.
“And, Higby,” said Titus, “bring crackers and something to drink. What will you have, Dallas?”
“O, anything,” said the boy, politely; “any kind of wine—sherry, perhaps.”
Titus drew his dark eyebrows together. “My grandfather is a strict temperance man; won’t have wine in the house, even for pudding sauces.”
“O, indeed,” said the boy, lightly, and with veiled amusement; “well, it doesn’t matter. Cold water will do, or a cup of tea.”