“Me?” says I. “Oh, I’m just a stray stranger. I was being shot through your cunnin’ little State on a no-stop schedule, when one of our tires went out of business. Hence this informal call.”
“But,” says he, hesitatin’ and pushin’ back the hat brim, “isn’t this—er—aren’t you Professor McCabe?”
Say, then it was my turn to do the open face act! Course, knockin’ around as much as I have and rubbin’ against so many diff’rent kinds of folks, I’m liable to run across people that know me anywhere; but blamed if I expected to do it just walkin’ out accidental into a potato orchard.
Sure enough, too, there was something familiar about that long thin nose and the droopy mouth corners; but I couldn’t place him. Specially I’d been willin’ to pass my oath I’d never known any party that owned such a scatterin’ crop of bleached face herbage as he was sportin’. It looked like bunches of old hay on the side of a hill. The stary, faded out blue eyes wa’n’t just like any I could remember, either, and I’m gen’rally strong on that point.
“You’ve called my number, all right,” says I; “but, as for returnin’ the compliment, you’ve got me going, neighbor. How do you think I’m looking?”
He makes a weak stab at springin’ a smile, about the ghastliest attempt at that sort of thing I ever watched, and then he shrugs his shoulders. “I—I couldn’t say about your looks,” says he. “I recognized you by your voice. Perhaps you won’t remember me at all. I’m Dexter Bean.”
“What!” says I. “Not Beany, that used to do architectin’ on the top floor over the studio?”
“Yes,” says he.
“And you’ve forgot my mug so soon?” says I.
“Oh, no!” says he, speakin’ up quick. “I haven’t forgotten. But I can’t see very well now, you know. In fact, I—I’m—— Well, it’s almost night time with me, Shorty,” and by the way he chokes up I can tell how hard it is for him to get out even that much.