“Maybe they wouldn’t let me have the rooms by myself, anyhow,” said Myron. “And I’d rather have you with me than—than some fellow I didn’t know at all.”
“Thanks, but I guess I’d better light out. I’m sort of backwoodsy for you, Foster. Maybe the next guy will be more your style, see? Besides——”
“Besides what?” demanded Myron with a frown.
Joe chuckled and nodded toward the furniture. “I couldn’t live up to that,” he said.
Myron’s gaze followed his companion’s and he viewed the crated monstrosities distastefully. “I don’t see why you need to keep rubbing it in about my—my ‘style,’” he said crossly. “Just because I have more than two suits of clothes you needn’t always try to make out that I’m a—a——”
“I don’t,” answered Joe calmly. “Besides, I’ve got four suits myself now: and an extra pair of trousers!”
“Then—then it’s just that stuff?” asked Myron, waving toward the furniture.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. You see, kiddo—I mean Foster——”
“Oh, dry up,” muttered Myron.
“You see, I’ve been used to simple things. The old man and me—I—me—whatever it is—lived pretty plain for a long time. Lately we’ve stayed in a hotel in Portland most of the time. I ain’t used to chiffoniers and enamelled tables and all those gimcracks. I’d feel sort of—of low in my mind if I had to live in a place all dolled up with ribbons and lace and mirrors and things.”