“Guess he won’t trouble you any more,” said Anthony.
“Perhaps not. Sometimes, though, I think he’s saving up for something particularly unpleasant. I don’t care, though. He can go hang.”
Anthony closed the window, drew down the stained green shade, and lighted the gas-stove. Jack lay back on the bed for a time and watched the dinner preparations in silence.
“What’s the pièce de résistance to-night?” he finally asked, as there came a sputtering from the pan.
“Hamburger steak with onions,” answered Anthony.
“Ugh!”
“Don’t you like it?” asked his host in surprise.
“Not a bit; and I don’t like the beastly smell, either. So I’m going home.” He stretched his arms luxuriously and sat up. Then, “Did you ever wish you were rich, Anthony?” he asked.
Anthony paused a moment with fork outstretched, and looked thoughtfully across the room. Finally, he shook his head.
“No, I don’t believe I ever did. What’s the use?”