"I don't know nothin' about K. Bingy," says Joe. "I t'run him out o' my place last night, neck and crop, for bein' drunk and disorderly. I ain't seen him since."
I looked up at Joe's little eyes. They looked like the eyes of the wolf in the picture in our dining-room. Joe's got a fat chin, and a fat smile, but his eyes don't match them.
"You coward and you brute," I says to him, "where did Keddie Bingy get drunk and disorderly?"
Joe begun to sputter and to step around in new places. The man I was with brought his hand down on the table.
"Never mind that," he says, "what you've to do is bring some breakfast. What will you have for your breakfast, mademoiselle?" he says to me.
"Why," I says, "some salt pork and some baking powder biscuit for me, and some fried potatoes and a piece of some kind of pie. What kind have you got?"
"Apple and raisin," says Joe, sulky. But the man I was with he says:
"Suppose you let me order our breakfast. Will you?"
"Suit yourself, I'm sure," says I. "I ain't used to the best."