“Um!... Well, from all accounts, he’s a nice man to see—I guess not. They say he eats a couple of men for breakfast every morning. He keeps a baseball-bat on his desk, and hits everybody that comes to see him a lick over the head. I see him every little while, and, believe me, I’m glad I don’t have to mix in with him any. I expect he’s the grouchiest man in town.”
“Sorry to hear it,” says Mark, “but I guess we kin m-make out to git along with him s-somehow.”
“Want to go to your room?”
“Yes.”
Well, a boy with a uniform picked up our satchels and showed us into the elevator and then went into our room first and lighted the lights. Then he sort of stood around and eyed us like there was something he wanted to say, but he didn’t say a word. We looked at him right back, because we weren’t going to let on that we cared a rap what any kid with a uniform on did or said. Pretty soon Mark says:
“Well, was there anythin’ you was n-needin’?”
“Huh!” says the kid.
“What you hangin’ around for, anyhow?”
“I guess you hain’t traveled much,” says the boy.
“It hain’t p-p-part of your job to tell us, is it?”