The girl flinched. He grunted disgustedly, his face mirroring his thoughts. _Stringy hair ... plain face ... and soft as Venus slime clear through!_ He shrugged. "Anyway, he's got to eat." He looked at the small figure. "Want to eat, kid? Would you like a glass of milk?" He opened a refrigerator, took out a plastic bottle and poured milk in a glass. Chubby hands reached out for the glass. "There, that's better," the cook said. "Pete will see that you get fed all right." He turned to the girl. "Could he belong to someone around here?" Jane shook her head. "I don't know. I've never seen him before." "Well, he can stay in the kitchen while you work the shift. I'll watch him." She nodded, took an apron down from a hook and tied it around her waist. Then she patted the sober-faced youngster on his tousled head and left. The beefy man studied the boy. "I think I'll put you over there," he said. He lifted him, stool and all, and carried him across the kitchen. "You can watch through that panel. See? That's Jane in there. She'll come back and forth, pass right by here. Is that all right?" The little one nodded. "Oh?" Pete raised his eyebrows. "So you _do_ know what I'm saying." He watched the child for a few minutes, then turned his attention to the range. The rush hour was on and he soon forgot the little boy on the stool ... Whenever possible during the lunch-hour rush, Jane stopped to smile and talk to the child. Once she asked, "Don't you know where your mama and daddy are?" He just stared at her, unblinking, his big eyes soft and sad-looking. The girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a cookie and gave it to him. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked hopefully. His lips parted. Cookie crumbs fell off his chin and from the corners of his mouth, but he spoke no words. She sighed, turned, and went out to the clattering throng with laden plates of food. For a while Jane was so busy she almost forgot the young one. But finally people began to linger more over their food, the clinking of dishes grew quieter and Pete took time for a cup of coffee. His sweating face was haggard. He stared sullenly at the little boy and shook his head. "Shouldn't be such things as kids," he muttered. "Nothing but a pain in the neck!" Jane came through the door. "It gets worse all the time," she groaned. She turned to the little boy. "Did you have something to eat?" "I didn't know what to fix for him," Pete said. "How about some beef stew? Do you think he'd go for that?" Jane hesitated. "I--I don't know. Try it." Pete ladled up a bowl of steaming stew. Jane took it and put it on the table. She took a bit on a spoon, blew on it, then held it out. The child opened his mouth. She smiled and slowly fed him the stew. "How old do you think he is?" Pete asked. The girl hesitated, opened her mouth, but said nothing. "About two and a half, I'd guess," Pete answered himself. "Maybe three." Jane nodded and he turned back to cleaning the stove.