The quirk about the lips seemed to execute a little caper.
“Is that your first name or your second?”
“It’s my only name.”
“You mean that you have another name, but you don’t want to tell it?”
“I mean that if I ’ave another name it ain’t nobody’s business but mine.”
The head of the club was now writing in a ledger, his eye following the movement of his pen.
“I see that you’re a man of decided opinions.”
“I am—begging Your Honor’s parding,” Lovey declared, with dignity.
“That’ll help you in the fight you’re going to put up.” Before Lovey could protest that he wasn’t going to put up no fight the gentle voice went on, “And you seem like a respectable man, too.”
“I’m as respectable as anybody else—at ’eart. I don’t use bad langwidge, nor keep bad company, nor chew, nor spit tobacco juice over nothink, and I keeps myself to myself.”