The girl’s face fell; her full lips quivered and pouted like a child’s on the verge of sobbing. “I made the toast,” she said. “I made it jus’ like you said. It—it’s good.” David uncovered the plate hastily. “It looks fine, Jennie; but you see it’s so near dinner-time—see here, my girl, you buy the coffee-pot for me; will you?—just a plain tin one, mind. And—er—keep the change.” He threw a crisp bill on the table. The girl took up the money and folded it together carefully. When she raised her blue eyes they were swimming in tears. “I—I’ll do anythin’ you say,” she whimpered, “anythin’ you want me to.” By way of answer, perhaps, David pushed back his chair with a harsh, scraping sound that echoed dismally through the empty room. Then he rose, clapped his straw hat on the back of his curly head, searched for his cigarette case and matches and stalked out to the piazza by way of the passage which, in country fashion, afforded an easy mode of transit between the bar and the dining-room. At one side of the passage was set a high, ink-spattered desk, and behind it a long-legged stool, upon which perched a fattish, elderly man intent upon a ledger. This individual appeared to feel the heat of the June morning exceedingly, for he mopped his face from time to time with a large handkerchief, in the intervals of setting down laborious lines of figures. He looked up as David Whitcomb approached, and his large face creased itself into a dubious smile. “Good-morning, Sutton,” remarked David blandly. “Finding out how much the public owes you for your astonishing good cheer—eh?” “Mornin’, Mr. Whitcomb,” mumbled the Boniface. “Um—yes; I was sort of goin’ over m’ books. Warm mornin’, ain’t it?” He eyed David closely, taking note apparently of the heavy ring of virgin gold on the third finger of his left hand and descending slyly to the polished toes of his tan Oxfords. “How much do I owe you?” asked the young man nonchalantly, allowing a thin wreath of smoke to escape from his lips. “‘Twon’t break ye, I guess,” hazarded Mr. Sutton, pushing a slip of pink paper across the desk with alacrity. “The’s a few extrys on this week’s bill,” he added, breathing heavily as he indicated with the handle of his pen various items annotated on the account. David flung his half-smoked cigarette out of the open window and produced a roll of bills from his pocket, from which he detached one. “Take it out of that,” he said carelessly. “I need some change.” “Yes, sir; all right, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Sutton effusively. He sucked in his lips in a windy whisper as he counted out the change in bills of smaller denominations and topped them with a little pile of silver. “Hope you find everythin’ t’ your likin’ at the Eagle.” David shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it’s all right,” he said. “I’m used to roughing it.” The hotel-keeper signed his name to the receipted bill with a heavy flourish. “Heh?” he ejaculated. Then he climbed hastily down from his perch.