Turning these things over in my mind and wondering vaguely what might be awaiting me at the apartment, I said nothing to Lovey as we trundled homeward in a taxicab; nor did Lovey say anything to me.
It was only when we got out of the lift and he had turned the key in our own door that he said, with sudden energy: “Slim, I’ll be yer servant right down to the very ground.”
“Oh no, you won’t be, Lovey,” I returned, deprecatingly. “We’re fellas together. We’re buddies. We’ll be buddies as long as we live.”
He slapped his leg with a cackle that was, as nearly as his old lungs could make it, a heartfelt, mirthful laugh.
“There! Didn’t I tell you? That’s what I’ve been a-waitin’ for; and the Lord has give it to me at last. He can’t do much more for me now—not till He takes me ’ome, like.” He raised his sharp profile and sniffed. “I smell it, Slim—a kind o’ stuffy smell it is now—but I ain’t mistook in it. And now, Slim,” he went on, triumphantly, as he threw the door open and entered before me to turn on the lights—“and now, Slim, what you’re a-waitin’ for is—is waitin’ ’ere for you.”
I knew it couldn’t be Regina that Lovey was caging in these overheated rooms, since she wouldn’t be sitting in the dark.
CHAPTER XXVIII
It was not Regina Barry who was waiting for me, but it was the next best thing.