"Well, he can stay in the kitchen while you work the shift. I'll watch
him."
She nodded, took an apron down from a hook and tied it around her waist.
Then she patted the sober-faced youngster on his tousled head and left.
The beefy man studied the boy. "I think I'll put you over there," he
said. He lifted him, stool and all, and carried him across the kitchen.
"You can watch through that panel. See? That's Jane in there. She'll
come back and forth, pass right by here. Is that all right?"
The little one nodded.
"Oh?" Pete raised his eyebrows. "So you _do_ know what I'm saying." He
watched the child for a few minutes, then turned his attention to the
range. The rush hour was on and he soon forgot the little boy on the
stool ...
Whenever possible during the lunch-hour rush, Jane stopped to smile and
talk to the child. Once she asked, "Don't you know where your mama and
daddy are?"
He just stared at her, unblinking, his big eyes soft and sad-looking.
The girl studied him for a moment, then she picked up a cookie and gave
it to him. "Can you tell me your name?" she asked hopefully.
His lips parted. Cookie crumbs fell off his chin and from the corners of
his mouth, but he spoke no words.
She sighed, turned, and went out to the clattering throng with laden
plates of food.
For a while Jane was so busy she almost forgot the young one. But
finally people began to linger more over their food, the clinking of
dishes grew quieter and Pete took time for a cup of coffee. His sweating
face was haggard. He stared sullenly at the little boy and shook his
head.
"Shouldn't be such things as kids," he muttered. "Nothing but a pain in
the neck!"
Jane came through the door. "It gets worse all the time," she groaned.
She turned to the little boy. "Did you have something to eat?"
"I didn't know what to fix for him," Pete said. "How about some beef
stew? Do you think he'd go for that?"