“I be. What do you want?”
“Would you mind telling me what you've done with my clothes?”
“Not a bit. I've got 'em out on the line, and they ain't dry yet. If you'll look on the chair by the sou'west window you'll find a rig-out of mine. I'm afraid 'twill fit you too quick—you're such an elephant—but I'll risk it if you will.”
Apparently the stranger was willing to risk it, for in a few moments he appeared, dressed in the Atkins Sunday suit of blue cloth, and with Seth's pet carpet slippers on his feet.
“Hello!” was the lightkeeper's greeting. “How you feelin'?—better?”
“Tip top, thank you. Where do you wash, when it's necessary?”
“Basin right there in the sink. Soap in the becket over top of it. Roller towel on the closet door. Ain't you had water enough for a spell?”
“Not fresh water, thank you. I'm caked with salt from head to foot.”
“Does make a feller feel like a split herrin', if he ain't used to it. Think you can eat anything?”
“Can I?” The response was enthusiastic. “You watch me! My last meal was yesterday noon.”