What do you suppose--you, with your knowledge of
life--the world will think of me when I get out of here?"
But Roaring Bill had collected himself, and sat smiling, and made no
reply. He looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, then resumed
his reading of the Mad Philosopher, out of whose essays he seemed to
extract a great deal of quiet amusement.
A day or two after that Hazel came into the kitchen and found Bill
piling towels, napkins, and a great quantity of other soiled articles
on an outspread tablecloth.
"Well," she inquired, "what are you going to do with those?"
"Take 'em to the laundry," he laughed. "Collect your dirty duds, and
bring them forth."
"Laundry!" Hazel echoed. It seemed rather a far-fetched joke.
"Sure! You don't suppose we can get along forever without having
things washed, do you?" he replied. "I don't mind housework, but I do
draw the line at a laundry job when I don't _have_ to do it. Go
on--get your clothes."
So she brought out her accumulation of garments, and laid them on the
pile. Bill tied up the four corners of the tablecloth.
"Now," said he, "let's see if we can't fit you out for a more or less
extended walk.
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