“They don’t deserve any,” said Cornelius stoutly. Even Jack looked as if he thought Company’s sentiment wasted.
“I told her she might,” said Mrs. Brimmer quietly, the guests looking on with no words to offer.
“Look at her,—she’s putting in an awful lot,” shouted Cornelius, hanging over the turkey platter. “Rosy, don’t give ’em that.”
“That” was half of an apple tart, rich and red, and juicy.
“Probably the first they’ve ever tasted,” said the minister softly.
Jack rubbed the toe of his boot back and forth over the polished wooden floor, Miss Clorinda gave a mild sniff of disapproval of the way things were going on, but by pinching herself, she managed to keep still; Corny alone, keeping up the other side of the argument.
“It’s a perfect shame, when it’s the first time we’ve ever had a Thanksgiving,” he cried, with a red face and indignant eyes, “to pack off all those nice things to a lot of dirty, mean old Corner boys.”
Mother Brimmer still kept silent.
“Jack thinks so.” Corny whirled around and pointed to the senior partner triumphantly. “He knows; and you ought to do as he says, Rosy.”
Company’s little right hand dropped to the side of the basket, while her round face took on a pained expression as she looked at Jack.