"That's the C. & S. C. We don't have nothing to do with them."

They were both silent for a time. The flush had not left Peterson's face.
His eyes were roving over the carpet, lifting now and then to Bannon's
face with a quick glance.

"Guess I'll shave," said Bannon. "Do you get hot water here?"

"Why, I don't know," replied Peterson. "I generally use cold water. The
folks here ain't very obliging. Kind o' poor, you know."

Bannon was rummaging in his grip for his shaving kit.

"You never saw a razor like that, Pete," he said. "Just heft it once."

"Light, ain't it," said Peterson, taking it in his hand.

"You bet it's light. And look here"--he reached for it and drew it back
and forth over the palm of his hand--"that's the only stropping I ever
give it."

"Don't you have to hone it?"

"No, sir; it's never been touched to a stone or leather. You just get up
and try it once. Those whiskers of yours won't look any the worse for a
chopping."

Peterson laughed, and lathered his face, while Bannon put an edge on the
razor, testing it with a hair.