“I've got to carve this turkey, friend,” said the boy to Bolles. “I'll do my best to help eat it,” returned the school-master, smiling. “Misser Dlake,” said poor Sam, “I solly you. I velly solly you.” IV “Reserve your sorrow, Sam,” said Dean Drake. “Give us your soup for a starter. Come,” he said to Bolles. “Quick.” He went into the dining-room, prompt in his seat at the head of the table, with the school-master next to him. “Nice man, Uncle Pasco,” he continued. “But his time is not now. We have nothing to do for the present but sit like every day and act perfectly natural.” “I have known simpler tasks,” said Mr. Bolles, “but I'll begin by spreading this excellently clean napkin.” “You're no schoolmarm!” exclaimed Drake; “you please me.” “The worst of a bad thing,” said the mild Bolles, “is having time to think about it, and we have been spared that.” “Here they come,” said Drake. They did come. But Drake's alert strategy served the end he had tried for. The drunken buccaroos swarmed disorderly to the door and halted. Once more the new superintendent's ways took them aback. Here was the decent table with lights serenely burning, with unwonted good things arranged upon it--the olives, the oranges, the preserves. Neat as parade drill were the men's places, all the cups and forks symmetrical along the white cloth. There, waiting his guests at the far end, sat the slim young boss talking with his boarder, Mr. Bolles, the parts in their smooth hair going with all the rest of this propriety. Even the daily tin dishes were banished in favor of crockery. “Bashful of Sam's napkins, boys?” said the boss. “Or is it the bald-headed china?” At this bidding they came in uncertainly. Their whiskey was ashamed inside. They took their seats, glancing across at each other in a transient silence, drawing their chairs gingerly beneath them. Thus ceremony fell unexpected upon the gathering, and for a while they swallowed in awkwardness what the swift, noiseless Sam brought them. He in a long white apron passed and re-passed with his things from his kitchen, doubly efficient and civil under stress of anxiety for his young master. In the pauses of his serving he watched from the background, with a face that presently caught the notice of one of them. “Smile, you almond-eyed highbinder,” said the buccaroo. And the Chinaman smiled his best. “I've forgot something,” said Half-past Full, rising. “Don't let 'em skip a course on me.” Half-past left the room. “That's what I have been hoping for,” said Drake to Bolles. Half-past returned presently and caught Drake's look of expectancy. “Oh no, boss,” said the buccaroo, instantly, from the door. “You're on to me, but I'm on to you.” He slammed the door with ostentation and dropped with a loud laugh into his seat. “First smart thing I've known him do,” said Drake to Bolles. “I am disappointed.” Two buccaroos next left the room together.