"Here, too," agreed the big man, turning to go. "Arizona is good enough for me—come on, Phil!"
"Where to?" The little man drew back half resentfully, and then he changed his mind. "All right," he said, falling into step, "a gin fizz for mine!"
"Not on an empty stomach," admonished his pardner; "you might get lit up and tell somebody all you know. How about something to eat?"
"Good! But where're you going?"
The big man was leading off down a side street, and once more they came to a halt.
"Jim's place—it's a lunch-counter," he explained laconically. "The hotel's all right, and maybe that was a breakfast we got, but I get hungry waiting that way. Gimme a lunch-counter, where I can wrop my legs around a stool and watch the cook turn 'em over. Come on—I been there before."
An expression of pitying tolerance came over the little man's face as he listened to this rhapsody on the quick lunch, but he drew away reluctantly.
"Aw, come on, Bud," he pleaded. "Have a little class! What's the use of winning a stake if you've got to eat at a dog-joint? And besides—say, that was a peach of a girl that waited on us this morning! Did you notice her hair? She was a pippin! I left four-bits under my plate!"
The big man waggled his hand resignedly and started on his way.
"All right, pardner," he observed; "if that's the deal she's probably looking for you. I'll meet you in the room."