He entered looking casual, and
very nipped.
"You're here for the night," he said. "A regular blizzard.
The greatest piece of luck I've had in a month." He busied
himself with the ham and eggs and the teapot. "Hungry?"
"Not a bit," said Fanny and Heyl, together.
"H'm," said Albert Edward, and broke six eggs into the
frying pan just the same.
After supper they aided Albert Edward in the process of
washing up. When everything was tidy he lighted his most
malignant pipe and told them seafaring yarns not necessarily
true. Then he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and fell
asleep there by the fire, effacing himself as effectually as
one of three people can in a single room. They talked; low-
toned murmurings that they seemed to find exquisitely
meaningful or witty, by turn. Fanny, rubbing a forefinger
(his) along her weather-roughened nose, would say, "At least
you've seen me at my worst."
Or he, mock serious: "I think I ought to tell you that I'm
the kind of man who throws wet towels into the laundry
hamper.
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