"Ah, Harry, chide me no more," pleaded the little man. "I was weak, I know, but all the freights seemed to be coming south, and I have always longed for a winter amid the sunshine and flowers. Look at this fat old duffer coming! Alms! For the love of Allah, alms!"
"Shut up," growled the thin one. "Save your breath till we stand hat in hand in the office of the local newspaper. A job! Two jobs! Good lord, there aren't two newspaper jobs in the entire South. Well—we can only be kicked out into the night again. And perhaps staked to a meal, in the name of the guild in which we have served so long and liquidly."
"Some day," said the short man dreamily, "when I am back in the haunts of civilization again, I am going to start something. A Society for Melting the Stone Hearts of Editors. Motto: 'Have a heart—have a heart!' Emblem, a roast beef sandwich rampant, on a cloth of linen. Ah, well—the day will come."
They halted in the plaza. In the round stone tub provided, the town alligator dozed. Above him hung a warning sign:
"Do not feed or otherwise annoy the alligator."
The short man read, and drew back with a tragic groan.
"Feed or otherwise annoy!" he cried. "Heavens, Harry, is that the way they look at it here? This is no place for us. We'd better be moving on to the next town."
But the lean stranger gave no heed. Instead he stepped over and entered into earnest converse with a citizen of San Marco. In a moment he returned to his companion's side.
"One newspaper," he announced. "The Evening Chronicle. Suppose the office is locked for the night—but come along, let's try."
"Feed or otherwise annoy," muttered the little man blankly. "For the love of Allah—alms!"