Having washed ourselves, Poppy and I skinned up the back stairs, while we were waiting for breakfast, to see what we could pump out of the old man.
“Good morning, Mr. Doane,” says the leader, when we were beside the sick bed. “Feeling better to-day?”
The squirming invalid looked at us with eyes that didn’t seem to see us.
“Heh?” he fumbled vacantly, moving over in bed so that he could scratch his itchy back on a corner of the headboard.
“How’s your head?” says Poppy.
“Heh?” with more back scratching.
“Ah!... Come out of it. We know you aren’t as dumb as you let on.”
“Heh?” as the itchy one tried the other corner of the headboard for a change.
“Tell him to put on a new record,” I grinned.
“Did you know,” Poppy then tried to catch the old man by surprise, “that Miss Ruth is downstairs?”