A year earlier in such a case he might have consulted his father, but now he was bent on working out his problem for himself. Self-reliance was a quality he was trying to develop, and Mr. Parker approved this policy. So Sam, parting at last from the Trojan, went home in thoughtful mood; found that he was late for dinner, and sat himself down at the table to dine alone under the critical eye of Maggie, the maid, a very good friend of his, by the way, but by no means blinded by partiality to his shortcomings.
Sam ate mechanically but with good appetite. He cleared his plate.
“Want some more meat?” Maggie asked curtly.
“Why—why”—he was thinking of anything but his food—“why—why, I guess—not. No, thank you.”
Maggie sniffed skeptically. Moreover, she picked up his plate, disappeared for a moment in the kitchen, returned with a second generous portion.
“Eat that—guess you’ll need it soon enough!” she remarked.
Sam looked up. “Er—er—what do you mean, Maggie?”
“You don’t need telling.... Take your time, though—don’t gobble!”
Sam meekly obeyed. “Oh, all right. I’ve got lots of time. I—I must have been thinking about something else.”
Maggie’s lip curled. “That ain’t what I’d call a secret, exactly. A blind man could see you were wool-gathering.... What scrape you in now?”