Homer Crawford looked about him critically before entering. He said, "I suppose this has been scouted out adequately. Where's the back entrance?" He scowled. "Haven't the boys posted a sentry?"
A voice next to his ear said pleasantly, "Stick 'em up, stranger. Where'd you get that zoot suit?"
He jerked his head about. There was a very small opening in the wooden wall next to him. It was Kenny Ballalou's voice.
"Zoot suit, yet!" Homer snorted. "I haven't heard that term since I was in rompers."
"You in rompers I'd like to see," Kenny snorted in his turn. "Come on in, everybody's here."
The aged, unpainted, warped, wooden house consisted of two rooms, the one three times as large as the second. The furniture was minimal, but there was sitting room on chair, stool and bed for the seven of them.
"Hail, O El Hassan!" Elmer Allen called sourly, as Homer entered.
"And the hail with you," Homer called back, then, "Oops, sorry, Isobel."
Isobel put her hands on her hips, greatly widened by the stuffing she'd placed beneath her skirts. "Look," she said. "Thus far, the El Hassan organization, which claims rule of all North Africa, consists of six men and one dame ... ah, that is, one lady. Just so the lady won't continually feel that she's being a drag on the conversation, you are hereby allowed in moments of stress such shocking profanity as an occasional damn or hell. But only if said lady is also allowed such expletives during periods of similar stress."
Everyone laughed, and found chairs.