Lefever laughed. “No offense, Philippi, but would it be indiscreet to ask which side of your face hurts the most when you smile?”
“If you’ve got no beds, we won’t bother you long,” interposed Pardaloe.
“I’d like a pitcher of ice-water, anyway,” persisted Lefever. “Sit down, noble Greek; we’ll talk this over.”
“Who are you fellows?” demanded Philippi, looking from one to the other.
“I am a prospector from the Purgatoire,” answered Pardaloe.
Philippi turned his keen eye on Lefever. “You a railroad man?”
“No, sir,” declared Lefever, dusting the alkali vigorously from his coat sleeve.
“What are you?”
John looked as modest as it was possible for him to look. “Few people ask me that, but in matter of fact I am an objet d’art.”
“What’s that?”