“He must ’a’ hit me with a brick!” he muttered vengefully. His mutter mingled with a groan of despair as he took another look at his eye.
“Wow! I guess I’ll get my auto and get out o’ town fer a while—this is only gettin’ worse every minute! Yes, sir, that’s what I’ll do, as soon’s Ironton shows up. He’s watchin’ them fellers, and if they get the constable I reckon I’ll have passengers in that car o’ mine.”
Bully Carson was disheartened, there was no doubt of that. He was also discolored, and realized the fact thoroughly. He had counted on flashing a particularly flamboyant necktie on the girls the next day, but the colors would not harmonize very well with his eye. And his eye was immense, and growing more so. Bathing only seemed to help it along.
He began to dress. Late as the hour was, he was determined to get his car and slink out of town, rather than display his facial adornments to Carsonville’s admiring gaze. He realized just how admiring that gaze would be.
Suddenly he paused, at the sound of some one entering the house. He started, then recognized his father’s step ascending the stairs. This was strange, for when Colonel Carson had left for Fardale he had expected to remain over Monday. A moment later the colonel opened the door of his son’s room and stepped in.
“Still up, eh?” he said. Then his eyes took in the array of bottles, and he sniffed. “Arnica?”
“Arnica,” repeated Bully sullenly, keeping his back to the light.
“What have you been doing?”
“I been sittin’ on the roof eating scrambled eggs—what’d you suppose?”
Being used to Bully’s disrespectful manner, Colonel Carson took no notice.