“Armstrong Dale, of course, for certaine.”
“What!” roared Pacey. “Who with?”
“Ze Conte Dellatoria, my friend.”
“The devil. Has it come to that?”
“But, yes. Why not? Zes huzziband is sure to find out some ozaire day.”
“Phew!” whistled Pacey, wiping his brow. Then striking a match, he began to smoke tremendously.
“And you will help our friend?” said Leronde.
“Help him? Certainly.”
“I knew it. Pacey, my friend, you are one grand big brique.”
“Oh yes, I am,” cried Pacey banteringly. “Now then, how was it?”