In answer to her summons George appeared at once, collarless and in shirtsleeves with the drowsiness of an interrupted nap in his eyes. He beamed on Rosie affectionately.
"I thought you'd be coming."
"It was awful good of you waiting for me, Jarge."
"Good—nuthin'! Guess I know who can cook in this house!"
Conscious worth need not be offensive. Rosie answered modestly: "Oh, I cook much better than I used to, Jarge. I learned ever so much from your mother. I know how to make pie now. We used to have pie every day in the country."
"I know." George sighed pathetically.
Rosie was all sympathy. "I'll make you a pie this week, honest I will. Which would you rather have, rhubarb or apple?"
George weighed the choice while Rosie set out his breakfast.
"Guess you might make it rhubarb this time," he decided at last; "and apple next time."
"Now then," Rosie said, pouring his coffee, "you eat and I'll sit down and talk to you. I wanted to talk to you last night, but you know I had to go off with poor Janet."