“What was he wanting to write a note for?” demanded Malone. “Has he lost his voice?”
“It was a note of apology. He says he never fails to write a note of apology when he's done something he's ashamed of, or words to that effect. Lifelong practice, he says.”
“That little nurse, Miss Lake,--the one with the coral earrings. You know, Mike. I saw you carrying a bucket of water for her yesterday.”
“Her name isn't Lake,” said Malone. “It's Hardwickley. And if you had your eyes open, you'd have seen me carrying one for her every day, so you would, my lad.”
“The damned villain!” exploded Flattner. “He told me her name was Lake,--word with only four letters,--and she turns out to have--let's see,--eleven! I call that pretty shifty work, I do. You can't trust these wizards of Wall Street. They'll do you every crack, if you don't keep your eye peeled. Hornswoggled me out of seven letters.”
“You've got to watch 'em,” mused Fitts. “What was he apologizing to her for?”
“Something to do with his washing. I don't just remember what it was, but I think she didn't iron and fold his handkerchiefs properly, or maybe it was his collars. In any case, he panned her for it, and afterwards repented. Told me in so many words that he felt like a blooming cad about it, and couldn't rest till he had apologized.”
Fitts took several puffs at his pipe and then remarked: “That man has the biggest wash of anybody in this camp. I don't see any real reason why he should change collars three times a day while he's hauling logs down from the hills. As a matter of fact, what's the sense of wearing a collar at all? Most of us don't even wear shirts. See here, your majesty,--begging your pardon for disturbing your thoughts with my foot,--why don't you issue a manifesto or edict or something prohibiting the use of collars except on holidays, or at weddings, funerals and so forth?”
Percival yawned. “If Landover didn't have a collar on he'd think he was stark naked. Gosh, I'd like to go to bed.”
“Why don't you? We'll call you as soon as we get any news,” said Flattner.
“No, I'll stick it out a while longer. I say, Flat, it begins to look as if there's real wheat coming up over there after all. Old Pedro was telling me today that it looks like a cinch unless we got it sowed too late and cold weather comes along too soon. I never dreamed we'd get results. Putting out spring wheat in virgin soil like this is a new one on me. If it does thrive and deliver, by gosh, a whole lot of agricultural dope will be knocked to pieces. I thought spring wheat had to be sown in land that was ploughed the fall before. What's the explanation?”