Of course it was Dalton who took Becky home. There had been a sharp summons to Kemp, who came running up with raincoats, a rush for the car, a hurried "Won't you come with us, Randy?" from Becky, and Randy's curt refusal, and then the final insult from Dalton.
"Kemp will get you home, Paine, when he takes the tea things."
Randy wanted to throw something after him—preferably a tomahawk—as Dalton went down the hill, triumphantly, shielding Becky from the elements.
He watched until a curtain of rain shut them out, but he heard the roar of the motor cutting through the clamor of the storm.
"Well, they're off, sir," said Kemp cheerfully.
He was packing the Canton teapot in its basket and was folding up the chairs and tables. Randy
had a sense of outrage. Here he was, a Randolph Paine of King's Crest, left behind in the rain with a man who had his mind on—teapots—— He stood immovable in the arched opening, his arms folded, and with the rain beating in upon him.
"You'll get wet," Kemp reminded him; "it's better on this side, sir."
"I don't mind the rain. I won't melt; I've had two years in France."
"You have, sir?" something in Kemp's voice made Randy turn and look at him. The little man had his arms full of biscuit boxes, and he was gazing at Randy with a light in his eyes which had not been for Dalton.