Course I was waitin' for some remarks from her. You'd most think they was due, wouldn't you? It's my private office, remember, and she's sort of crashed in unannounced. If any explainin' was done, it was up to her to start it. And waitin' for what don't come is apt to get on your nerves.
"Eh?" I throws over my shoulder at her.
Her straight eyebrows kind of humps in the middle—that's all.
"Did you say anything?" I goes on.
"No," says she. If she'd smiled sort of faint, or even glared stern at us, it wouldn't have been so bad. But she just presses her lips together—thin, narrow-gage lips, they was—and goes on givin' us that distant, unconcerned look.
Meanwhile Swifty, with his face bent towards the floor, ain't gettin' any view at all, and is only guessin' what's happenin'. He squirms impatient.
"Say, Shorty," he grumbles, "I got a few bones in me neck, remember. Break, can't you?"
And as I loosens my hold he straightens up, only to get the full benefit of that placid, ladylike lookover.
"Ahr-r-r chee!" says he, glancin' disgusted at me. Then he starts gettin' rosy in the ears, like he always does when there's fluffs around, and after one more hasty look he bolts back into the gym.
The strange lady watches this move like she has everything else, only she shrugs her shoulders a bit. What she meant by that I couldn't make out. I was gettin' to the point where I didn't care so much, either.