“Good gosh!” Ducky sat bolt upright now. “This letter came yesterday. That means he’ll be here on today’s stage?”
“That’s it,” said Dog. There was nothing more to be said. When things happen to people, things happen to them, and that’s all there is to it.
They summoned courage, finally, to discuss details. He could sleep in the loft—up there with Spud Dugan, the man-of-all-work about the place. Spud wouldn’t like it, and the boy wouldn’t care for Spud’s snoring, but they would have to put up with one another. He probably smoked tailor-made cigarettes. Ducky went to get a carton. He probably would be one of those fellows that’s always got to be washing himself. Dog went to buy some white soap, and then, remembering something, bought a dozen cakes of laundry soap as well. Time for the stage any time now, and presently it came, in an enveloping swirl of gray dust—a big truck, with an extra seat crosswise behind the driver, and the back end filled with freight.
“Here he is,” bawled Duke Envers, the driver, and added to the slim youngster at his side: “There’s your uncle over there, him with the face like a bench bull.”
The young man climbed down, stiffly. He wore a flappy hat that had been pearl-colored, tweed knickerbockers, and boots of that golden yellow shade peculiar to New York outfitting shops.
“He’s got a couple of bags that was made from a cow apiece,” added Duke, “and they’s a crate of mail-order stuff for you, Dog.”
Percival stepped forward, blinking in the strong light. Dog, swallowing hard, strode toward him and shook hands with a heartiness at which the visitor cried out.
“My partner, Ducky Spence,” said Dog. Percy nodded, his right hand safely behind his back. Ducky went for the bags, and presently returned, staggering.
“Don’t forget that mail-order stuff,” Duke Envers bawled to Dog, climbing back over the freight. “It’s here in the hind end. I’ll hand it down. Looks like a washing-machine to me.”
He handed it down, and Dog carried it to the Ford, lifted it over the side and snugged it in, between the back and front seats, on top of sundry supplies. The stranger and Ducky followed, Ducky swaying under the grips, his legs moving with that strange waddle which had given him his moniker. Dog lifted the grips, plunking them down on the back seat, which they completely filled.