"Now, let's get through with this room," he was saying in his most
impelling way. "The men will be here for the boxes at four. I don't
want 'em to wait. This back room stuff we'll put in the trunks.
Look out there! Don't you see that nail?"

Eddie Deever, with his usual indolence, was seated upon the edge
of the writing table in the corner, smoking his cigarette, and
commenting with rash freedom upon the efforts of the perspiring
slaves.

"How long are you going to keep these things in the warehouse?" he
asked of Droom.

"I'm not going to keep them there at all. They belong to Mr.
Bansemer. He'll take them out when he has the time."

"He's getting all the time he wants now, I guess." commented Eddie.
"Say, talking about time, I'll be twenty-one next Tuesday."

"Old enough to marry."

"I don't know about that. I'm getting pretty wise. Do you know,
I've just found out how old Rosie Keating is? She's twenty-nine.
Gee, it's funny how a fellow always gets stuck on a girl older than
himself! Still, she's all right. I'm not saying a word against her.
She wouldn't be twenty-nine if she could help it."

"I suppose it's off between you, then."