Keith found himself chuckling. His grin met the lifeless stare of a
pair of glass eyes in the huge head of an old bull moose over the
mantel, and after that his gaze rambled over the walls ornamented with
mounted heads, pictures, snowshoes, gun-racks and the things which went
to make up the comradeship and business of Brady's picturesque life.
Keith could look through into the little dining-room, and beyond that
was the kitchen. He made an inventory of both and found that McDowell
was right. There were nutcrackers in Brady's establishment. And he
found the bathroom. It was not much larger than a piano box, but the
tub was man's size, and Keith raised a window and poked his head out to
find that it was connected with a rainwater tank built by a genius,
just high enough to give weight sufficient for a water system and low
enough to gather the rain as it fell from the eaves. He laughed
outright, the sort of laugh that comes out of a man's soul not when he
is amused but when he is pleased. By the time he had investigated the
two bedrooms, he felt a real affection for Brady. He selected the
agent's room for his own. Here, too, were pipes and tobacco and books
and magazines, and a reading lamp on a table close to the bedside.
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