“Beg pardon. I don’t remember names.” He placed his hat on the table, sat down, got up, saw that Mrs. Westcott had gone, and sat down again with a sigh. “Twelve minutes, twenty-eight and two fifths,” he said.
“Indeed?” asked Rodney politely.
Kitty nodded gravely. “I’ve done better than that by nearly two minutes. In the winter. Air’s better then. Lungs work better. It follows, of course.” He seemed to demand an answer and Rodney nodded gravely, too.
“Naturally,” he agreed. “What the dickens are you talking about?”
Kitty viewed him thoughtfully. “My fault,” he said after a moment. “Thought you knew. Walking up the hill, you know. Station to house. Twelve minutes, twenty-eight and two-fifths.” He pulled a stop-watch from his pocket and studied it. Apparently satisfied, he clicked the hands back into place again. “Warm to-day. Heat enervates the air. There’s a difference. You’ve noticed it, I guess.”
“I can’t say I ever have,” replied Rodney, turning again to his shirts. “Must be quite a climb up that hill, though. Did you lug that bag with you?”
“Yes. Forgot I had it. That counted against me, of course.” He looked for a moment at the suitcase. Then, “Funny about my trunk,” he meditated aloud.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Rodney indifferently.
“Left it in New York. Ferry station. Forgot to recheck it. Got any collars?”