The young man who had been mopping up the floor went out for fresh water.
"Who is that fellow?" I asked.
"He works downstairs."
"For the Shriek?"
"For the embalmer. He's an apprentice."
"I would like to meet him."
Presently I did meet him.
"What have you there?" I asked. He was folding up a great canvas bag of curious pattern.
"It's when you are shipped away—to Texas or somewhere. This is a little one. You'd need—" he appraised me from head to foot—"you'd need a number ten."
He desisted from detail. He shifted to the story of his life. Since he had been a child he had wished to be an undertaker.