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 comprehension of the
lighter whims and fancies of his partner's imagination.
"Did you get a porterhouse?" he demanded.
"Sure, an' an inch thick. It's a peach. Look at it."
He unwrapped the steak and held it up for the other's inspection. 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.
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