"There! With my own fingers!"
Jennie spoke with some confidence that the touch of her fingers would render bread and cheese ambrosial.
"Thank you," said "Harry" again, with the barest nuance of dryness in his tone. "I'll open the beer. What will you drink, Miss Milton?"
Undoubtedly he was snubbing Jennie! Those blue eyes of his might perhaps be attentive enough to white arms and tight waists and pink legs when he himself had sought them out, but they were not to be distracted by any such frivolous phenomena when serious business was afoot. Jennie would fail! Merriam was sure of it.
But at any rate she was not easily snubbed.
"Her name's Margery," she cried, consistent in her antipathy to surnames.
"Well, Margery?" said Crockett, complaisantly.
"Beer," said Margery.
It was the first word Merriam had heard her speak. Her taciturnity comforted him. Jennie was a little fool, but Margery would keep her head. They would waste their time and their sandwiches and beer on Crockett, but perhaps she would foil any inquiries he might presently attempt.
"Don't set things in the middle of the table, Marge," cried. Jennie. "Set 'em around the edge. I'm going to do a dance for you, Harry. Wouldn't you like to see me dancing on the table?"