Gordon shook his head.
"Guess your focus needs adjusting. Now, suppose you were getting a man ready for a six months' trip—a man who smoked those two-for-five cigars. What would you give him?"
Harding's eyelids flickered. He sighed.
"It would be difficult, sir. I shouldn't give him clean under-garments, sir. I should suggest the oldest suit I could find. You see, sir, it would be waste to give him a good suit. The axles of those box cars are so greasy. I'm not sure about a toothbrush."
"Your focus is adjusting itself."
"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."
"And the five-cent-cigar man?"
Harding's verdict came promptly.
"A hand bag with one good suit and ablutionary utensils, sir. Also strong, warm under-garments, and a thick overcoat. One spare pair of boots. You see, sir, he could carry that himself."
"Good," cried Gordon delightedly. "You prepare for that five-cent-cigar man. Now I want some food. Better ring down to the restaurant."