“Now, you've got to let me, Mr. Badeau. I don't have company very often. You just sit still and let me work awhile. I'm not doing my share.” So Hunch sat by the stove and watched her as she stepped about the kitchen. Her manner had brightened, and there was a flush on her cheeks. She took pains to keep the pantry door closed, but once Hunch caught a glimpse inside and saw that the shelves were nearly bare. While drinking the coffee they both felt a slight restraint. Occasionally when their eyes met, Mamie would lower hers and laugh nervously. They talked of old times, and Hunch recalled, somewhat awkwardly, the day he had first met her on the beach by the life-saving station. Then there was a long pause, and Hunch said, “Look here, Mis' Considine, there ain't no use trying to make me think things that ain't so is so. I'm going down town and bring up something to eat.” Mamie flushed. “Now, don't say nothing. You just leave me be and we'll fix things up in great shape.” Mamie tried to protest, but Hunch put on his ulster and started up the street, saying over his shoulder as he went down the steps, “I'll be back in no time.” He found Joe Cartier, who kept the grocery and meat market across from the hotel, at his house, and made him open his store and put up a large bundle of provisions. When he returned, Mamie was at the front window. She hurried to open the door. “Come on and we'll have a blowout,” said Hunch, as he cut the string and spread the packages over the kitchen table. “There's a good many of the things that don't have to be cooked at all. I got some preserve--thought you might like it. Do you? It's peach.” Mamie's eyes were hesitating between laughter and tears, but she nodded quickly and the laugh triumphed. Then they both set to work. Hunch laid the table-cloth, and puttered about clumsily, while Mamie prepared the meal. Mamie laughed, at his awkwardness, and after a time grew so cheerful that she joked him and made him blush through the bronze on his face. And they sat facing each other across the table, with all the lively chatter of two foolish young people. Afterward she washed the dishes and he wiped them. But when it was finished and they sat before the stove in the front room, the sense of restraint returned. For a long time neither spoke. They looked at the two cracked mica windows in the stove door, which glowed redly when the flames leaped up behind them. It was Mamie who finally broke the silence. “Is--Bruce well?” “He's--he's pretty well. He didn't feel quite able to come down to-day. You know we're bunking together. You see, I know about--now, you mustn't think I'm poking my nose into none of my business. I and Bruce was together a good while, and we come to know a good deal about each other, o' course.” Mamie was looking at the stove windows. The wood in the stove had fallen, sending up sparks and shoots of flame that danced grotesquely on the mica.