“What dirt?” He floundered a little but, gathering courage again: “Where?”
A chuckle of cynical good humor escaped from Rip.
“In your eye! Where did you think I meant?”
CHAPTER III—A DANGEROUS SILENCE
It was quite late and the usual hum and buzz of masculine voices in the smoking room were missing. The train went screeching through the dark, rainy night, indifferent to all else save the purpose of its own mission in life.
Westy and Rip were sitting opposite one another, trying to penetrate the inky blackness outside the dripping window panes. Nothing but a shroud of blackness covered the earth. They gave it up.
“Gee, I’ll be glad to walk on the ground again,” Rip said, breaking the silence.
“Here, too,” agreed Westy. “Morning can’t come quick enough to suit me.”
Mr. Wilde, occupying the seat with them, laid down the book he had been reading and grinned genially.
“Getting kind of restless, eh, kids?”