around there, in case I think of something I've forgotten. G'bye."
Wednesday—a little old steamer sailing at noon! A steamer, and he couldn't swim a stroke and was always terrified by water. And the trip West with the home team! What about that? Why had he not the presence of mind to cut in and just perfectly tell her where they were going? But he had let the moment pass. It was too late. He didn't want to begin by making a row. And Breede was puzzled by him that way, was he? Couldn't make out how many kinds of perfectly swear-word fool he was?
He regretted that he had not been more emphatic about those cuffs. And Breede had said it after witnessing that salute from the pitcher's box! He must be a hard man to convince of anything. What more proof did he want?
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!
The man who couldn't make him out was calling for him. For an hour longer he took down the man's words, not sneering pointedly at the cuffs, yet allowing it to be seen that he was conscious of them. A puzzle was he?
"Hopin' t'ave promp' action accordin' 'bove 'structions, remain yours ver' truly she's got it all reasoned out," concluded Breede.
"She just told me," said Bean; "little old steamer sailing Wednesday."
"Can't make y' out," said Breede.
That thing was getting tiresome.
"You're a puzzle to me, too," said Bean.
