you're staying ain't it?"

"Why--er--yes," says he, hesitatin'.

I couldn't make out why he should choke over it, for I'd heard him say
distinctly he was livin' there. But it was amazin' what an effect the
night air had on his conversation works. Seemed to dry 'em up.

"Interested in antiques, are you?" says I, sort of folksy.

"Somewhat," says Clyde, steppin' out brisk.

"Odd line," says I. "Now, I could never see much percentage in havin'
grandfathers' clocks and old spinning-wheels and such junk around."

"Really," says he.

"One of your fads, I expect?" says I.

"M-m-m," says he.

"Shouldn't think you'd find room in a hotel for such stuff," I goes on,
doin' a hop-skip across a curb, "or do you have another joint, too?"

"Quite so," says he. "Studio."

"Oh!" says I. "Whereabouts?"

"In town," says he.