"Say, I don't want to butt in or anything, but—he didn't do a thing to you, did he?"
"I hit the edge of a door in the dark," explained Clay solemnly.
"That door must have had several edges." The youth made a confidential admission. "I've got an edge on myself, sort of."
"Not really?" murmured Clay politely.
"Surest thing you know. Say, was it a good scrap?"
"I'd hate to mix in a better one."
"Wish I'd been there." The student fumbled for a card. "Didn't catch your name?"
Clay had no intention of giving his name just now to any casual stranger. He laughed and hummed the chorus of an old range ditty:
"I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,
I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,
I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,
And a long way from home."