He just said, “Your face seems familiar to me; you were in my regiment, eh?”
“I was one of those in the machine gun nest,” Jib Jab said; “don’t you remember the four privates you saved?”
Harry said, “Oh, you were one of those fellows, eh? Glad to see that you got back to the States all right. I came to see you, but I didn’t know who you were; that is, I didn’t know you had been in France. You’re Horace E. Chandler, I think, aren’t you? I’m glad to see that you’re human; there seems to be some question. Will you have a cigarette?”
Gee, it was awful funny to watch the two of them. Jib Jab just stared at him while Harry lifted himself up on the edge of the exhibition platform and lighted a cigarette, kind of off-hand and friendly like.
“How’s the savage beast business?” he asked him.
“What makes you thing I’m Chandler?” Jib Jab said.
Harry said, “Oh, I’ve suspected you were Chandler ever since these boys saw your picture in the paper, but of course, I didn’t know you had been mixed up in the big scrap with me. Funny how things come about, huh?”
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to admit it,” Jib Jab said; “I hope you’re not going to shout it out loud.”
“No, I just want your assistance. I think you’re a good sport. Far be it from me to criticise you for being a what-is-it. I’d like to be one myself. Must be kind of nice flopping around the country with a lot of freaks. How much does that skinny fellow weigh, anyhow? He looks like a ramrod. Little fellow’s kind of pesky, isn’t he?”
The two of them just sat there smoking cigarettes. Harry was dangling his legs from the platform and Jib Jab had his feet resting on it and his chair tilted back. It was awful funny to see them. For a couple of minutes neither of them said anything, only Harry kept looking around at the platforms where the freaks usually were.