“Eh? What’s that?” wrinkling his narrow forehead.
“Fine weather,” I repeated.
“Can’t hear you,” shoving his chair a little nearer mine. He was evidently deaf.
“A pleasant day, this!” I thundered.
“Damn the weather! Where you from?”
“Asheville.”
“What’s your business?
“Seein’ the country?” Then with a cynical curl of his lip, “Poor business,” and he continued, whittling at his plaster cast.
I felt interested in the man. His cordial manners prompted me to fall on his neck, but I restrained myself. Then I took up the examination.