"Lord, H'ram, stop!" gasped the victim; "yore sp'ilin' my necktie an'
collar."
"'Gin the rules to wear 'em," was the laughing reply. "Heer, Joe, you
sprinkle 'im while I hold 'im!"
This command was about to be obeyed, when Mrs. Bradley suddenly
appeared.
"Boys, boys, behave!" she cried, and as the wrestlers separated she
continued, apologetically, "I clean forgot thar wusn't a sign of a
towel on the roller; I wonder what you intended to wipe on; here, take
this one, an' hang it up when you're through." Then she turned to
Westerfelt's door and looked into his room.
"Are you ready, young man?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, coming out.
"Gentlemen," she said, "quit thar a minute! This is John Westerfelt,
my old friend. Mind you look atter yore intrusts. The boys over in
Fannin know how to please the gals. Ef you don't watch sharp he'll cut
you every one out."
The two men holding the towel between them gave him their moist hands,
and those at the basins nodded. Mrs. Bradley drew him into the
sitting-room. The buzz of conversation ceased as she introduced him.
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