Passing behind them, George opened a door filled in with wire-mesh, and they entered a hot room with a bare floor, furnished with a row of plain wooden chairs.

After they had rung a bell for several minutes, a man appeared and looked at them with languid interest from behind a short counter.
"Can you put us up ?" George inquired.
"Sure," was the answer.
The man flung down a labeled key, twisted round his register, which was fitted in a swivel frame, and handed George a pen.
"We want two rooms," Edgar objected.
"Can't help that.

We've only got one." "I suppose we'd better take it.

Where can one get a drink ?" "Bar," replied the other, indicating a gap in a neighboring partition.
"They're laconic in this country," Edgar remarked.
"Ever since I arrived in it, I've felt as if I were a mere piece of baggage, to be hustled along anyway without my wishes counting." "You'll get used to it after a while," George consoled him.
Entering the dark bar, Edgar refreshed himself with several ice-cooled drinks, served in what he thought were unusually small glasses.

He felt somewhat astonished when he paid for them.
"Thirst's expensive on the prairie," he commented.
"Pump outside," drawled the attendant.