“What I mean to say is, perhaps it doesn’t show, but I haven’t got my moth bags and clothes hangers along.”

Jesso looked from one to the other, making an expectant face. He still thought it was funny. He stepped close to the squat man in the chair and leaned down confidentially.

“Now, Bean Pole has said his daily words and I’m not going to be unfair to him. How about it, Porker? You haven’t talked yet.”

But Porker looked right through him. His small white hands lay peacefully in his lap, and Jesso was surprised at the hands, because they were so different from the bull neck and the thick face of the man. His skull was shaved to a stubble except for a full-grown patch over the forehead, and that patch was arranged in a fat shiny wave.

“I’m gonna count till three,” Jesso said.

The heavy face turned slightly to the tall man, turning with a muscled twist of the neck as if it were going to creak any minute.

“You may hang up the clothes,” said the tall one. Jesso noticed the precision in the voice.

“One,” he said.

“Your conduct will be reported, at any rate.”

“Two.”

For the first time the squat man’s face showed interest. He had very light eyes and they traveled from Jesso’s feet to his head, as if the man were thinking of buying a side of beef.

“Ready or not,” said Jesso, looking at the light eyes. There was something else about them. The way the man’s nose was tilted, it looked as if his eyes and nostrils were all in one line. The long upper lip and thin mouth finished the picture. Just like a porker.

“Three,” Jesso said, and he dropped the clothes on the floor. The man in the chair didn’t move, but the tall one started to scramble. He was halfway across the room before Jesso knew how he got there, and then the man started to crouch. It wasn’t as if he were preparing to jump. It was more scientific. Jesso saw the shoulders hunch, the long arms held still, one hand held higher than the other.