The door of one closet was open, and Browning's street clothes were hanging on some hooks inside.
Browning had got into trunks, stockings, and light, soft-bottomed shoes.
He was stripped to the waist.
Buster walked around the lad, inspecting him with a critical eye, punching here and there with his fingers, feeling of certain muscles and some points where there seemed to be a superabundance of flesh.
"Well, say!" cried the professor.

"I'd like ter know wot yer kickin' erbout! I never seen a feller work off fat no faster dan wot youse has, an' dat's on der dead.

Why, w'en yer comes yere yer didn't have a muscle dat weren't buried in fat, an' now dey're comin' out hard all over yer.
You'd kick ef yer wuz playin' football!" "That's all right," said Bruce, rather impatiently.

"I know what I want, and I am paying you to give it to me.

Go ahead." "Don't be so touchy," scowled Kelley.