Joe said, gloomily: “I need a drink!”
“What’s the matter, old fel’?” asked Harry.
Joe, observing the spring of eager malice in his eyes, thought: He’s a smart fellow; but I’m smarter. I can play on him like the piano. I can surround him all about, and be ready for him to move in any direction! Joe said: “You’ve got me in a hole, that’s what!”
“I?” said Harry, opening his china blue eyes, candid for once in his astonishment.
Joe chuckled inwardly; and looking Harry over, made him wait for the explanation. Harry was a young man, but not so young as he looked. He made a business of being a young man. He was slender; yet somehow he gave the impression of being soft and plump. A dimple in one cheek contributed to that effect. From the neck up he had a naked look, though his head was furnished with a sufficient quantity of hair. It was one of those heads of hair that suggest a wig. He even had a small, stiff mustache, every hair of which was laid in order. Just the same his face had a naked look.
“How could I get you in a hole?” he asked.
“I been talkin’ too much about you up at the flat,” said Joe. “About our gettin’ to be friends, and goin’ around together, and all.”
“Has she told him?” asked Harry sharply.
“Nah! That kid is wise. She don’t tell the old man anything but what he wants to hear.”
“What’s the trouble then?”