Mr. Tridge, carelessly flicking the question out of the range of further consideration, now stated that he felt quite recovered from the attack that had been made upon him, and earnestly besought Mr. Sinnett to maintain silence as to the incident, if for no other reason than for the good repute of the Magnolia Toilet Saloon.
“I been wild in my time,” confessed Mr. Tridge, “but I don’t want folks to think that I’m the rough character I used to be. See? And now good-night, and thank ’ee.”
He steered for the door. Mr. Sinnett, with a kindly smile, insisted on accompanying him.
“You—you might be took bad again,” he urged, linking arms with him. “I’ll come your way and see you safe home.”
And this he very charitably did. Mr. Tridge, although leaning heavily on his companion’s supportive arm, none the less otherwise ignored the presence of Mr. Sinnett. Moved by contact with the open air to a reflective mood, Mr. Tridge, as he walked, growled aloud a resentful epitome of his conversation in the “Cutlass and Cannon,” coming back again and again to dwell on his firmness in refusing to part with his booty. Arrived at the door of his lodgings, he found his latchkey, and then turned to his escort.
“’Ullo, where did you spring from?” he asked, dully.
“I’ve been seeing you home,” replied Mr. Sinnett, in benevolent accents.
“Like your cheek!” grunted Mr. Tridge. “Ne’ mind! Jolly good fellow! Mush ’bliged! Goo’ night!”
He opened the door, and was passing over the threshold, when Mr. Sinnett addressed him a little desperately.
“Ain’t you—ain’t you going to ask me in?” he queried.