Here, Locke, your back to the door--
your face looks like a chalk-mine. There! Now don't be so nervous--
we'll cure this fellow's ambition as a gin-slinger. I'll change
names with you for a minute. Now, Ringold, go ahead with your
story." Then, as the giant took up his tale again: "Listen to him,
fellows; look pleasant, please. Remember you're not sitting up
with a corpse. A little more ginger, Ringie. Good!" He pushed the
button twice, and a moment Later the door opened quietly to admit
a medium-sized man in white coat and apron.
Had the young men been a little less exhilarated they might have
suspected that Locke's story of having been dogged from St. Louis
was a trifle exaggerated; for, instead of singling him out at
first glance, the new-comer paused at a respectful distance inside
the door and allowed his eyes to shift uncertainly from one to
another as if in doubt as to which was his quarry. Anthony did not
dream that it was his own resemblance to the Missourian that led
to this confusion, but in fact, while he and Locke were totally
unlike when closely compared, they were of a similar size and
coloring, and the same general description would have fitted both.
Having allowed the intruder a moment in which to take in the room,
Kirk leaned back in his chair and nodded for him to approach.
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