Mike was among friends in Tony's. Having told in full how he did up Low Foo, and smashed that shirt thief's laundry, Mike drank two glasses of beer, and said that he thought now he'd go upstairs and have a smoke.
“There must be somethin' in lickin' a chink,” expounded Mike, “that makes a guy hanker for th' hop.”
“It's early yet; better stick 'round,” urged Tony, politely. “There is some high-rollers from Newport up here on a yacht, an' crazy to see Chinatown in th' summer when th' blankets is off. Th' dicks w'at's got 'em in tow, gives me th' tip that they'll come lungin' in here about ten. They're over in Mott Street now, takin' a peek at the joss house an' drinkin' tea in the Port Arthur.”
“I don't want to meet 'em,” declared Mike. “Them stiffs makes me sick. If youse'd promise to lock th' doors, Tony, an' put 'em all in th' air for what they've got on 'em, I might stay.”
“That'd be a wise play, I don't think,” remarked the Dropper, who had just come in. “Tony'd last about as long as a dollar pointin' stuss. Puttin' a chink on th' bum is easy, an' a guy can get away wit' it; but lay a finger on a Fift' Avenoo Willie-boy, or look cockeyed at a spark-fawney on th' finger of one of them dames, an' a judge'll fall over himself to hand youse twenty years.”
“Right youse be, Dropper!” said the sophistcated Tony.
Mike climbed the creaking stairway to his room.
Below, in Tony's, the beer, the gossip, the music, the singing and the dancing went on. Pretty Agnes sang a new song, and was applauded. That is, she was applauded by all save Mollie Squint, who uplifted her nose and said that “it wasn't so much.”
Mollie Squint was invited to sing, but refused.
About ten o'clock came the Newport contingent, fresh from quaffing tea and burning joss sticks. They were led by a she-captain of the Four Hundred, who shall go here as Mrs. Vee. Mrs. Vee, young, pretty, be-jeweled, was in top spirits. For she had just been divorced from her husband, and they put brandy into the Port Arthur tea if you tell them to.