But Cookie, who had set his tray on the table, moved closer and closer toward Sandy, until he had poked his wrinkled little face within a few inches of the youth’s nose.
Then he winked and grinned.
Sandy Steele’s heart leaped for joy, and he almost jumped up and kissed the little man. As it was, he knew his face must have given him away, for Cookie had quickly flashed him a warning look, before he began backing away, still mouthing insults.
Sandy felt better when he saw Mr. Briggs slap Cookie on the back and heard him say, “Cookie, I couldn’t have said it better myself. The only thing I can add to what you’ve said is that those brats are twice as bad as you say they are.”
Still sputtering angrily, Cookie bent to his tray and began pouring the mate a cup of steaming hot coffee.
Determined to play his part, Sandy put a pleading note into his voice and said, “Aw, Cookie—how about some coffee?”
“You?” Cookie burst out, enraged. “I wouldn’t give you a glass of lake water if you were dying of thirst!”
“Heh, heh,” the mate laughed, evidently pleased that the little man shared his sentiments. “You’re in a rare mood tonight, Cookie. Why don’t you sit down and talk a bit.”
“I will,” Cookie said. He took a seat, carefully smoothing his stained white apron. He watched the mate take a sip. “How’s the coffee, mate?” he asked.
“Fine, Cookie—fine.”