Whispering Smith
and an indefinite number lie on the ground when it rains.”
Marion looked around her. “What do you do when it thunders?”
The two men were pulling boxes out for seats; McCloud did not stop to look up. “I crawl under the bed—the others don’t seem to mind it.”
“Which is your bed?”
“Whichever I can crawl under quickest. I usually sleep there.” He pointed to the one on the right.
“I thought so. It has the blanket folded back so neatly, just as if there were sheets under it. I’ll bet there aren’t any.”
“Do you think this is a summer resort? Knisely, my assistant, sleeps there, but of course we are never both in bed at the same time; he’s down the river to-night. It’s a sort of continuous performance, you know.” McCloud looked at Dicksie. “Take off your coat, won’t you, please?”
Whispering Smith was trying to drag a chest from the foot of the cot, and Marion stood watching. “What are you trying to do?”
“Get this over to the table for a seat.”
“Silly man! why don’t you move the table?”
Dicksie was taking off her coat. “How inviting
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