“Oh, I’m all right. I don’t want anything to eat.”
Maggie continued to descend the stairs. “Don’t, eh? Where’d you get dinner? Did the Joneses invite you?”
“No.”
“The Greens, then?”
“Why—why—no; they didn’t.”
Maggie had reached the foot of the flight. “So you come traipsin’ home after everything’s cleaned up and put away, and expect me to muss up my kitchen for you? I like that! Well, you can just guess again, Sam Parker!”
“But I don’t want anything, Maggie!” Sam said pacifically. “Honest, I don’t. I’m not hungry.”
“That’s lucky—seein’s there ain’t anything,” said Maggie drily. However, she was moving toward the kitchen. “Come along with you, though!” she flung over her shoulder.
Sam followed her meekly. “You don’t need to bother,” he insisted.
Maggie paid not the slightest heed to his protests. “Don’t see how folks can expect to keep a house decent, with all the overgrown boys in town runnin’ in for snacks between meals,” she grumbled. “Well, now you’re here, you might as well sit down.” She pointed to a table, bare but spotlessly clean. “S’pose I’ll have to give you some dry bread or a cracker, maybe. And the water from the faucet’s cold enough to drink at this time of year.”