"
"Bread and butter is fine when you're hungry," Ford suggested, and
spread a slice for Buddy, somewhat inattentively, because he was also
keeping an eye upon the kitchen door, where he had caught a fleeting
glimpse of Josephine looking in at him.
"You're putting the butter all in one place," Buddy criticised, with his
usual frankness. "I guess you're drunk, all right. If you're too drunk
to spread butter, let me do it."
"What makes you think I'm drunk?" Ford questioned, lowering his voice
because of the person he suspected was in the kitchen.
"Mamma and Jo was quarreling about it; that's why. And my own mamma
cried, and shut the door, and wouldn't let me go in. And Jo pretty near
cried too, all right. I guess she did, only not when any one was
looking. Her eyes are awful red, anyway." Buddy took great, ravenous
bites of the bread and butter and eyed Ford unwinkingly.
"What's disslepointed?" he demanded abruptly, after he had given himself
a white mustache with his glass of milk.
"Why do you want to know?"
"That's what my own mamma is, and that's what Jo is. Only my own mamma
is it about you, and Jo's it about mamma.
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