"Confound it, no! I thought my calling kit was in there." A pair of dark gray blankets landed in the corner on top of the sleeping-bag.
"That looks jolly comfortable. You'd better bunk in there, and leave the bed to me," Carew advised him. "You're in the wrong trunk for your calling clothes, anyway. What under heaven do you want of them, Weldon?"
"I don't want them to lie all in a heap."
"They'll lie in heaps for a good long time, before you are out of this country," Carew predicted cheerfully. "Moreover, from the look of the place, you could make calls in either pajamas or khaki, and it would pass muster. I saw one fellow, this noon, in evening clothes and a collar button. Besides, there isn't anybody for us to call on."
Weldon smiled contentedly, as he drew out a frock-coat and inspected its satin-faced lapels.
"Not for you, perhaps," he observed quietly.
"Oh, I see." Carew puffed vigorously. "So you have a bidding to call upon Miss Dent."
Weldon dislodged Carew's feet from the extra chair and utilized the chairback as a temporary coat-rack.
"No; quite the contrary," he replied. "I am invited to call upon Miss Ophelia Arthur. Now you will please to keep quiet, for I think I shall go to bed."
In silence, Carew watched him half through the process of undressing. Then, emptying his pipe and snapping open its case, he rose and faced his friend.