“I'm goin' to take the chance, though,” retorted Jackeen. “It's some private business of me own. An' say”—looking at Rice—“I want a pal. Will youse stick, Ricey?”
“Sure, Mike!” said Rice, who had nerve and knew how to be loyal.
Thus it was adjusted. Ratface went his way, to exercise his gifts of mendacity upon his Central Office principal, while the others scattered—all save Jackeen and Rice.
Jackeen gave his faithful friend the story of his wrongs.
“I wouldn't have thought it of the Doc,” was the pensive comment of Rice. He had exalted the Doc, because of his book learning, and groaned to see his idol fall. “No, I wouldn't have guessed it of him! Of course, it's different wit' a doll. They'd double-cross their own mothers.”
Over in Catherine Street at number Nineteen the Doc was teaching May how to cook opium. The result fell below the Doc's elevated notions.
“You aren't to be compared with Lulu,” he complained, as he trimmed the peanut-oil lamp. “All Chinatown couldn't show Lulu's equal for cooking hop. She had a genius for it.”
The Doc took the needle from May, and cooked for himself. May looked discouraged and hurt.
“It's all right,” said the Doc, dreamily, replying to the look of injury. “You'll get it right in time, dear. Only, of course, you'll never quite equal Lulu; that would be impossible.”
The Doc twirled the little ball of opium in the flame of the lamp, watching the color as it changed. May looked on as upon the labors of a master.