Short Stories
Then he lighted the kerosene stove and started to boil water
for the coffee. A few minutes later Jim returned.
"Most surprising," he remarked. "Streets, an' stores, an'
people just like they always was. Nothin' changed. An' me
walkin' along through it all a millionnaire. Nobody looked at
me an' guessed it."
Matt grunted unsympathetically. He had little comprehen-
sion of the lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagina-
tion.
"Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded.
"Sure, en' en inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it."
He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's in-
spection. Then he made the coffee and set the table, while Matt
fried the steak.
"Don't put on too much of them red peppers," Jim warned.
"I ain't used to your Mexican cookin'. You always season too
hot."
Matt grunted a laugh and went on with his cooking. Jim
poured out the coffee, but first, into the nicked china cup, he
emptied a powder he had carried in his vest pocket wrapped
in a rice-paper. He had turned his back for the moment on his
partner, but he did not dare to glance around at him. Matt
placed a newspaper on the table, and on the newspaper set the
hot frying-pan. He cut the steak in half, and served Jim and
himself.
"Eat her while she's hot," he counselled, and with knife and
fork set the example.
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