Painless
Porter was too old a bird ever to lower his guard. He met the youth on
the high plane of professionalism, refused to utter other than the
platitudinous counters demanded by the occasion. He held the young man
at spear's length, and showed plainly by the ominous glitter of his eye
that he did not intend to be trifled with.
Then Baker's jolly voice broke in.
"Well! well! well!" he cried. "If here aren't my old friends, Painless
Porter and the Wiz! Simple life for yours, eh? Back to beans! What's the
general outline of _this_ graft?"
"We have come camping for a complete rest," stated Waller gravely, his
comical face cast in lines of reprobation and warning.
"Whatever it is, you'll get it," jibed Baker. "But I'll bet you a
toothpick it isn't a rest. What's exhausted you fellows, anyway?
Counting the easy money?"
"Our professional labours have been very heavy lately," spoke up the
painless one.
"What's biting you fellows?" demanded Baker. "There's nobody here."
Waller indicated Bob by a barely perceptible jerk of the head. Baker
threw back his head and laughed.
"Thought you knew him," said he.
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