Peggy splashed the milk over the brim of Doggie’s cup and into the saucer. There came a sudden flush on her cheek and a sudden hard look into her eyes.
“Fighting? Do you mean to say you’ve been fighting with a common man like Chipmunk?”
“We’re the best of friends now,” said Doggie. “We understand each other.”
“I can’t quite see the necessity,” said Peggy.
“I’m afraid it’s rather hard to explain,” he replied with a rueful knitting of the brows, for he realized her disgust at the vulgar brawl.
“I think the less said the better,” she remarked acidly.
The meal proceeded in ominous gloom, and as soon as Peggy had finished she left the room.
“It seems, old chap, that I can never do right,” said Oliver. “Long ago, when I used to crab you, she gave it to me in the neck; and now when I try to boost you, you seem to get it.”
“I’m afraid I’ve got on Peggy’s nerves,” said Doggie. “You see, we’ve only met once before during the last two years, and I suppose I’ve changed.”
“There’s no doubt about that, old son,” said Oliver. “But all the same, Peggy has stood by you like a brick, hasn’t she?”