"Faker!"
"Honest, Slops."
At this moment a dripping sponge came spinning through the air and struck the young irreconcilable squarely between the shoulders.
"If Pee-wee Davis threw that sponge I'll skin him alive," announced Slops wrathfully. Instantly the air was filled with flying sponges. Towels, like dripping comets, passed and re-passed, while Doc Cubberly came hobbling in, threatening, imploring and dodging stray missiles.
Skippy, safe below the surface, watched this bombardment swing over head, die out and silence return. One by one his fellow prisoners emerged, vociferous, hilarious, and passed moist and voicing imprecations into the outer region. Still Skippy continued gorgeously to steam and doze.
Then a sharp rat-tat-tat on the door.
"Mr. Bedelle?"
"Hello, Doc!"
"Time's up."
"All right, almost dressed. Coming fast."