Brown arose from the bench and sauntered to the door.
“I washed them,” he said. “I judged that you would have to if I didn't, and it seemed the least I could do, everything considered.”
“Sho! You washed the dishes, hey? Where'd you put 'em?”
“In the closet there. That's where they belong, isn't it?”
Seth went to the closet, took a plate from the pile and inspected it.
“Um!” he grunted, turning the plate over, “that ain't such a bad job. Not so all-fired bad, for a green hand. What did you wash 'em with?”
“A cloth I found hanging by the sink.”
“I see. Yes, yes. And you wiped 'em on—what?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't see any towels in sight, except that one on the door; and, for various reasons, I judged that wasn't a dish towel.”
“Good judgment. 'Tisn't. Go on.”