"But, Judd," argued Cateye, weakly, "I never sleep with my window wide open like that. Especially this time of year. Why there is frost on the ground in the morning and the room will be cold as ice when we wake up!"
"Well, I can't see any harm in good ventilation. I slept in the barn most all this summer an' I don't look sick, do I?" said Judd, for the third time.
Cateye looked him over. No, to be sure, Judd didn't look very sick. In fact he seemed exceedingly robust. One hundred and ninety-six pounds, most of it worked into well formed and almost abnormal muscles.
"I can't say that you do look sick," admitted Cateye, "That's just why you can stand it. But I,—I'm not used to such outdoor measures. Do you want to turn this room into a park?"
"Not eggs-actly a park, but I believe in lots of fresh air an', …"
"Have it your own way then!" growled Cateye, savagely, seeing the uselessness of further argument.
He ventured no more remarks but watched Judd's every action curiously, musing: "I can't see Bob's idea in wishing this bird on me—even if he is his own brother—but I've taken him in now and I'll stick it out to the end."
Meanwhile Judd had removed a wallet from his pocket and was in the act of secreting it between mattress and springs.
"I say, Judd, what's the idea of hiding your wad? Nobody will steal it. There aren't any thieves about here!"
Cateye, already in bed, raised himself upon his elbow and eyed his new room-mate interestedly.