After they left, I scrutinised the cake. Oya! A little bakery mark was seen.
“Mighty liar!” I grumbled.
Abrupt clouds clouded the sun. The winds scolded bitterly. I decided there was no business remaining.
I called Mr. Heine and uncle into the Bishops’ Rest.
“Your cake was fine, Mr. Poet.”
“I know it, Miss Morning Glory. I’m a pretty good cook, you see. I cooked once in a Sierra camp for fifty miners. I was paid twenty dollars a week. Alas! It was the biggest money I ever earned.”
“By the way, Mr. Heine, the bakery sent a bill for you.”
I placed before him a slip that I had prepared for the purpose.
“Ha! Ha, ha, ha!”
His open laughter was as from a simple Faun.