He slipped down the creaking, nervous stairs, and found Slops luxuriously reclining before the ventilator, on a mattress re-enforced by yellow and green sofa pillows, that gave the whole somewhat of the devilishly dissipated effect of the scenes from Oriental lands that fascinated him on the covers of cigarette boxes.
Slops made him a sign in the deaf-and-dumb language to extinguish the light and creep to his side.
"Comfy?" said Slops, whispering from the darkness.
"Out of sight!"
"Here's the filthy weed."
"Thanks."
"Always keep the cig in front of the ventilator," said Slops, applying his lips to Dink's ear. "Get a light from mine. Talk in whispers."
Stover filled his cheeks cautiously and blew out after a sufficient period.
"You inhale?"
"Sure."