"Well, well! Now there's some reason to all these fireworks. War stuff!"
"You might call it that."
"Need any help?"
"You might tell them in the office to send up two pairs of shoe-strings and a leather-punch. I'll have to patch up those bags."
Murphy pushed back his hat. "Well, I'll be tinker-dammed!" Then he laughed. "I'd like to play poker with you. Two pairs of shoe-strings! That'll kill 'em cold in the office. They'll think I've forgotten my handcuffs. War stuff! No use asking you what it was the woman took."
"No."
"Well, it's your funeral."
"Exactly. And when you order the shoe-strings you might send out for an oak wreath with a purple ribbon."
"Glad you struck the town. There wasn't even a movie to-night. Bo, I'll give you all the help I can without asking questions. I know a fighting-man when I see him. A fighting-sailor with a talking parrot! Well, I'll shoot that order for the shoe-strings. And when the bird began to talk I thought there was some one else in the room!"