Cissie was moving toward the door. Peter tried to detain her. He enjoyed the implication of Tump Pack's stupidity, in their badinage, but she would not stay. He was finally reduced to thanking her for her present, then stood guard as she tripped out into the grimy street. In the sunshine her glossy black hair and canary dress looked as trim and brilliant as the plumage of a chaffinch.
Peter Siner walked back into the kitchen with the fixed smile of a man who is thinking of a pretty girl. The black dowager in the kitchen received him in silence, with her thick lips pouted. When Peter observed it, he felt slightly amused at his mother's resentment.
“Well, you sho had a lot o' chatter over signin' a lil ole paper.”
“She signed for ten dollars,” said Peter, smiling.
“Huh! she'll never pay it.”
“Said Tump Pack would pay it.”
“Huh!” The old negress dropped the subject, and nodded at a huge double pan on the table. “Dat's whut she brung you.” She grunted disapprovingly.
“And it's for you, too, Mother.”
“Ya-as, I 'magine she brung somp'n fuh me.”
Peter walked across to the double pans, and saw they held a complete dinner—chicken, hot biscuits, cake, pickle, even ice-cream.
The sight of the food brought Peter a realization that he was keenly hungry. As a matter of fact, he
