“Dis looks idt like a goodt quiedt hotel, aindt idt?” he said to himself. “I makes idt a pest (guest) of meinself here, py chiminy.”
By some mischievous chance the odd figure of Mr. Dill, rendered doubly striking since his immersion, caught the eye of Hank Nevins,—alias Mr. Avery,—as he sat discussing, with his chum Miles, the best means of carrying out their designs against Ned Nevins and his Electric Monarch.
There was nothing that Hank liked better than to tease some one who looked as if he might prove an unresisting victim, and here was one ready to his hand, at least so he judged.
“Hello, Dutchy,” he remarked amiably, “been taking a bath with your clothes on?”
Young Dill faced round on him and looked him over from top to toe.
“Aber I dink idt a bath do you no harm, mein freindt, aindt idt,” he remarked blandly, “midt or midoudt clothes on.”
This was not exactly what Hank had expected, and a subdued chuckle from some hangers on about the hotel porch did not increase his good humor.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t cross on the same boat,” observed Hank. “If I’d seen you I’d never have landed.”
“So——” observed young Dill amiably, “veel dere vos no chance of your seeing me alretty.”