“You said it,” he agreed. “If that guy has any brains, he’ll wear a beard from now on!”
Both men continued to indulge in a repartee of light bantering at the expense of Lefty, whose cheeks were flushed crimson. Presently, the old darky in charge of the wash room entered, going directly to where Sergeant Williams was standing, buttoning his regulation blouse.
“Brush yo’ off, suh?” the negro ventured, picking up a large whisk broom.
“Okay, Sambo,” Panama agreed, good-naturedly. “Did you see the game to-day?”
The old darky chuckled for a moment and then replied that he had, calling the soldiers’ attention to the faux pas made by Lefty.
“That was some retreat that guy made, eh, Sambo?” the Marine on the bootblack stand added. “Say, I wouldn’t have a thing like that on my conscience for a million!”
The negro’s lips parted in a broad smile, showing a mouth full of white teeth. “No, suh, dat’s one kind o’ dirt soap can’t wash off nohow!”
Turning about to allow the Negro to brush the back of his blouse, Panama noticed the presence of another man in the room for the first time.
“Did you see the game, pardner?” the Marine asked Lefty, not recognizing him.
The boy moved uncomfortably in his seat, casting his eyes upon the advertisements on the wall and pretending not to have heard the soldier’s question.