He laughed aloud. "I thought so; we're getting on--we're doing
famously."
He sat down by me, on some sort of a stool--one of those folding stools.
He began to dress my head.
"Your name is Jones?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, wondering, yet pleased with the sign of good-will
shown by his calling me by my first name.
"What edge are you?"