His admiring eye fell upon his visitor's bow-tie, faultless and
underanged throughout the vicissitudes of that arduous day, and he
yearned to know whether it was "made-up" or self-confected.
Sears-Roebuck were severely impartial as between one practice and the
other, offering a wide range in each variety. He inquired.
"Oh, tied it myself, of course," returned Cressey. "Nobody wears the
ready-made kind. It's no trick to do it. I'll show you, any time."
They fell into friendly talk about the wreck.
It was ten-thirty when Banneker finished his much-interrupted writing.
Going out to the portable house, he lighted an oil-stove and proceeded
to make a molasses pie. He was due for a busy day on the morrow and
might not find time to take the mile walk to the hotel for dinner, as
was his general habit. With the store of canned goods derived from the
mail-order catalogue, he could always make shift to live. Besides, he
was young enough to relish keenly molasses pie and the manufacture of
it. Having concluded his cookery in strict accordance with the rules set
forth in the guide to this art, he laid it out on the sill to cool over
night.
Tired though he was, his brain was too busy for immediate sleep. He
returned to his den, drew out a book and began to read with absorption.
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