“Doc, this is me old chum from way back when!” The Angel turned to Spangler eagerly. “Hoppy Uniatz!”
“Delighted... Now, Karl,” Doc Spangler said reproachfully, “don’t be a boor.”
“Me and Barrelhouse useta beat each udder’s brains out every week!” Hoppy effervesced hoarsely. “We barnstorm all over de country oncet. One week I win, next week he wins. What a team!”
“I can imagine,” the Saint murmured.
Spangler smiled at Simon with revived benevolence.
“I might have known who you were, Mr Templar, but you rather caught me by surprise, you know. I hardly expected a visit from the Saint at this particular moment.”
“The pleasure,” Simon bowed, “is all mine.”
“Not at all, my dear fellow. I... er... I’ve rather expected this visit — at some time or another, knowing of your parasitic propensities.”
The Saint lifted an eyebrow.
“Parasitic?”