The Laugh of a Woman
from the kitchen. At the end of an hour, Dicksie, engrossed over the broiler, was putting the finishing touches to the steak, and McCloud, more engrossed, was watching her, when a diffident and surprised-looking person appeared in the kitchen doorway and put his hand undecidedly on the casing. While he stood, Dicksie turned abruptly to McCloud.
“Oh, by the way, I have forgotten something! Will you do me a favor?”
“Certainly! Do you want money or a pass?”
“No, not money,” said Dicksie, lifting the steak on her forks, “though you might give me a pass.”
“But I should hate to have you go away anywhere”
“I don’t want to go anywhere, but I never had a pass, and I think it would be kind of nice to have one just to keep. Don’t you?”
“Why, yes; you might put it in the bank and have it drawing interest.”
“This steak is. Do they give interest on passes?”
“Well, a good deal of interest is felt in them—on this division at least. What is the favor?”
“Yes, what is it? How can I think? Oh, I know! If they don’t put Jim in a box stall to-night he will kill some of the horses over there. Will you telephone the stables?”
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