"This belongs to a friend of mine," I remarked; "but it's just the same as my own, don't you know, and he won't mind. Dash it, we're just like brothers!"
A howl of maniacal laughter from the old fool in the chair startled us both.
"Regular Damon and Pythias, damn it!" he gabbled, grinning with hideous face contortions. "One for all, and all for one! And just help yourself; don't mind me. Why—hell!"
O'Keefe prodded him sharply in the shoulder with his night stick.
"Stop your skylarking now, Foxy," he admonished angrily, "and come on. Here the gentleman's gone and put up his money for a cab for you and you ought to want to get out of his way so he can rest."
"He's sure been kind to you," supplemented Tim, whose eye had noted the passing of the yellow boys.
"Kind!" mocked the old geezer, showing his scattered teeth in a horrible grin. "Why, he's a lu-lu, a regular Samaritan!"
"No names!" warned O'Keefe, slightly lifting his night stick. "Come on to the street—you seem to forget you're under arrest."
He added hastily:
"And I ought to have warned you that anything you may say, Foxy—"