In the spare bedroom, whither Stull and Brandes had been conducted, the latter was seated on the big and rather shaky maple bed, buttoning a fresh shirt and collar, while Stull took his turn at the basin. Rain beat heavily on the windows.
“Say, Ben,” remarked Brandes, “you want to be careful when we go downstairs that the old guy don’t spot us for sporting men. He’s a minister, or something.”
Stull lifted his dripping face of a circus clown from the basin.
“I say we don’t want to give the old people a shock. You know what they’d think of us.”
“What do I care what they think?”
“Can’t you be polite?”
“I can be better than that; I can be honest,” said Stull, drying his sour visage with a flimsy towel.
After Brandes had tied his polka-dotted tie carefully before the blurred mirror:
“What do you mean by that?” he asked stolidly.