"I don't know."
"He'll stay there till midnight. They always do. I never got home till mornin' when I was courtin', an' Sal wasn't half as sweet as the 'fessor's daughter. Gad, she's a peach!"
"Ye'r no judge of beauty, Tom Fleet," was the retort. "You'd kiss a cow when ye'r drunk, thinkin' she's beautiful."
"I ain't drunk, I tell ye."
"Ye are."
"I ain't; I'm only sleepy an' want to go home."
"Well, ye ain't goin' till the guy comes."
"Then I'm goin' to fetch him."
"Now, ye'r talkin'. That's the stuff, Tom. We'll take him from his lady love. Come on."
"Wait a minute," one of the bunch ordered. "How'll we do it?"