"Dirty towel, too! Take mine, comrade. You'll make a profit by the trade!"
The joke, random though it was, hit a responsive institutional chord. Either dirty towels were always good for a laugh, or else the challenger must have had a reputation for greedy swapping. The laughter of the group was incommensurate with the remark. Dugan gave the tall Cossack a quick, casual look; he too was laughing, but his blue eyes were not. They were steady, observant, and calm. Dugan started to lead Hundeshausen away from the doorway, and this put the whole bunch of onlookers into hysterics.
"You're taking him the wrong way," someone gasped after laughter.
Even Hundeshausen muttered, "Wrong way, wrong way. Don't you know Number Thirty-two, you sober fool — you beast — you Fascist — you etcetera!"
"I'm a what?" asked Dugan pleasantly.
"An etcetera! A hangdog, sober-sided etcetera. I bet you never studied physics!"
"I did so," replied Dugan promptly.
"Where?" Hundeshausen was a little more articulate now, but still far from sober. Dugan led him carefully down the corridor, hoping that the German was gravitating toward his own room. Meanwhile he answered the question in clear, measured German.
"My name is August Stettiner," said Major Dugan, and I studied at the Elizabetheum in Neu Glogau—"
"Not under old Glottwitz!" cried Hundeshausen delightedly.