“I don’t, thanks. It’s not for sale. Especially the window seat. I’m sort of fond of that.” He chuckled. “It’s so—so foolish looking!”
Nead viewed him in puzzlement. “Well, if you like foolish things, all right,” he said finally, dipping into his bag for his pyjamas. “I don’t, though. Say, where do you come from?”
“Maine. How about you?”
“Buffalo.”
“Dakota?” inquired Ira blandly.
“Dakota! Of course not, you idiot! There isn’t any Buffalo in Dakota. New York, of course.”
“There used to be. Maybe they’re all killed now, though. Buffalo’s quite a big place, I suppose.”
“It’s big enough, anyway. And it’s the best city in the country.”
“Sort of like this place, then, I guess.”