And is that the way you
always prepare to receive your--friends?"
Steve colored a little.
"Perhaps I'm overcautious," he replied. "But it has to be hard. It
constitutes what one of my men, Joe Morgan, calls 'accident insurance.'"
Then her face lighted up again. The delighted bob of her head with
which she greeted that name astonished the man.
"Do you--why, you must have heard of Joe," he exclaimed.
Mischief danced again in the dark eyes.
"Joe Morgan," she laughed. "'Fat Joe,' isn't it? And of course I have
heard of him. You don't realize it, but I know more about this East
Coast work and--and the men who are doing it, than I had any idea
myself. Why, I'll wager that you never knew, yourself, that he once
wrote in to the officials insisting that the entry of his name on the
files be changed from 'Joe Morgan, cook,' to 'Joseph Morgan, assistant
to Chief O'Mara'!"
Steve's chuckle of appreciation was answer enough.
"I didn't know," he admitted, "but it's like him. And it was no more
than reasonable, either--that request--even if it is funny. He has
been cook for me; but he's been doctor and nurse and countless other
things in as many crises. He's the most trustworthy and capable
adviser, too, that any man ever had."
She scanned his face closely at the timbre of those words. Then, with
face averted, "Didn't he embroider you a--a sofa-cushion, too, once?"
she inquired, quite demurely.
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