“I’ve found out,” he whispered to me, “that yer can jine this club—and fall. Yer can fall three times before they’ll turn ye out.”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t want to fall in cold blood.”
“Well,” he muttered, doubtfully, “I ain’t partic’lar about the blood. Now my hadvice’d be this: ’Ere we are in July. That’s all right; we can jine. Then in Haugust we can ’ave a wee little bit of a fall—just two or three days like. We can do the same in September; and the same in Hoctober. That’ll use up our three times, and we can come back under cover for the worst months of the winter. We can’t fall no more after that; but in the spring we can try somethink else. There’s always things.”
“And suppose I don’t mean to fall?”
He looked hurt.
“Oh, if you can keep straight without me—”
“But if I can’t, Lovey? If I must keep straight and need you to help me?”
He clasped his hands against his stomach and drew a dismal face.
“That’d be a tight place for me.”