"Hello!" said Tim. "What's the matter with that?"
"Hurt it a little," replied Don.
"Well, I supposed you had, you idiot! How? Hit it against your head?"
The other smiled in his slow fashion. "We had a sort of a wreck coming on. Out in Indiana somewhere. I got this. That's why I'm behind time."
"I'm beastly sorry, old man! I didn't notice the crêpe. Did I hurt it much!"
"No. I yelled so you wouldn't. Preparedness, you know. Safety first and so on. It isn't much. How's everything here?"
Tim seated himself at the other end of the seat, took his knees in his hands, and beamed.
"Oh, fine! Say, I'm tickled to death to see your ugly mug again, Don. You aren't a bit handsomer, are you?"
"I've been told I was. Trouble with you is, you don't recognise manly beauty when you see it."
"Oh, don't I?" Tim twirled an imaginary moustache. "I recognise it every time I look in the glass! Well, how are you aside from the bum fist?"