Bannon spread his legs apart and drummed on the front of his chair.
"What's the other line?" he asked—"the four track line?"
"That's the C. & S. C. We don't have nothing to do with them."
They were both silent for a time. The flush had not left Peterson's face. His eyes were roving over the carpet, lifting now and then to Bannon's face with a quick glance.
"Guess I'll shave," said Bannon. "Do you get hot water here?"
"Why, I don't know," replied Peterson. "I generally use cold water. The folks here ain't very obliging. Kind o' poor, you know."
Bannon was rummaging in his grip for his shaving kit.
"You never saw a razor like that, Pete," he said. "Just heft it once."
"Light, ain't it," said Peterson, taking it in his hand.
"You bet it's light. And look here"—he reached for it and drew it back and forth over the palm of his hand—"that's the only stropping I ever give it."