Gee! you don't think _I_ done
it, do you?"
"Have you been letting the precious lamb _fight_?" cried Mamie,
her eyes two circles of blue indignation.
Steve's enthusiasm overcame his sense of guilt. He uttered a whoop.
"_Letting_ him! Gee! Listen to her! Why, say, that kid don't have
to be let! He's a scrapper from Swatville-on-the-Bingle. Honest! That's
what all this food is about. We're celebrating. This is a little supper
given in his honour by a few of his admirers and backers, meaning me.
Why, say, Kirk, that kid of yours is just the greatest thing that ever
happened. Get that chafing-dish going and I'll tell you all about it."
"How did he come by that scratch?" said Mamie, coldly sticking to her
point.
"I'll tell you quick enough. But let's start in on the eats first. You
wouldn't keep a coming champ waiting for his grub, would you? Look how
he's lamping that candy."
"Were you going to let the poor mite stuff himself with candy, Steve
Dingle?"
"Sure. Whatever he says goes. He owns the joint after this afternoon."
Mamie swiftly removed the unwholesome delicacy.
"The idea!"
Kirk was busying himself with the chafing-dish.
"What have you got in here, Steve?"
"Lobster, colonel. I had to do thirty miles to get it, too."
Mamie looked at him fixedly.
"Were you going to feed lobster to this child?" she asked with ominous
calm.
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