“Which?” asked Bud.
“The lonesomeness. Listen to the gulls, don’t they make you feel just melancholy.”
“Do you like to feel melancholy?”
“Depends on the brand, same as whisky. Say, it’s funny to think that the cars are running down Market Street and Tyrebuck sitting in his office and J. B.—he’s sitting at his luncheon by this. Wonder what they said when they found us gone? Well we’ve had the laugh on them to start with.”
“I hope they won’t have the laugh on us at the finish,” said George.
“Don’t,” said Hank, “it makes me feel doddery to think of us going back like dogs with our tails down and no Dutchman—hell! no, you don’t see me back in ’Frisco empty-handed, never. Was you ever laughed at, Bud?”
“Heaps of times.”
“Laughed at in the papers?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s what I mean. I’ve been, and I know.”