He put the two halves into a frying-pan and placed the latter on the front lid of the hot stove. Then the three men, with distended, questing nostrils, waited in silence. Slowly an unmistakable odor began to drift through the room. Wild Water forbore to speak, and Shorty remained dumb despite conviction.
“Throw it out,” Smoke cried, gasping.
“What's the good?” asked Wild Water. “We've got to sample the rest.”
“Not in this cabin.” Smoke coughed and conquered a qualm. “Chop them open, and we can test by looking at them. Throw it out, Shorty—Throw it out! Phew! And leave the door open!”
Box after box was opened; egg after egg, chosen at random, was chopped in two; and every egg carried the same message of hopeless, irremediable decay.
“I won't ask you to eat 'em, Shorty,” Wild Water jeered, “an' if you don't mind, I can't get outa here too quick. My contract called for GOOD eggs. If you'll loan me a sled an' team I'll haul them good ones away before they get contaminated.”
Smoke helped in loading the sled. Shorty sat at the table, the cards laid before him for solitaire.
“Say, how long you been holdin' that corner?” was Wild Water's parting gibe.
Smoke made no reply, and, with one glance at his absorbed partner, proceeded to fling the soap boxes out into the snow.
“Say, Shorty, how much did you say you paid for that three thousand?” Smoke queried gently.