At their arrival a little constrained silence was felt, for the news had somehow passed into rumor. Opposite Stover, Jim Hunter was sitting. He nodded to Hungerford, and then with deliberation continued a conversation with Tommy Bain, who sat next to him.
Stover perceived the cut instantly, as others had perceived it. He sat a moment quietly, his glance concentrated on Hunter.
"Oatmeal or hominy?" said the waiter at his back.
"One moment." He raised his hand, and the gesture concentrated the attention of the table on him. "Why, how do you do, Jim Hunter?" he said, with every word cut sharp.
There was a breathless moment, and a nervous stirring under foot, as Hunter turned and looked at Stover. Their glances matched one another a long moment, and then Hunter, with an excess of politeness, said:
"Oh, hello—Stover."
Instantly there was a relieved hum of voices, and a clatter of cutlery.
"I'll take oatmeal now," said Stover calmly. Story, glancing over, saw two spots of scarlet standing out on his cheeks, and realized how near the moment had come to a violent scene.
"Dink, old gazabo," said Hungerford, as they walked over to chapel, "what are you going to do? You can't go about the whole time with a chip on your shoulder."