“Yes; and I hardly think he would stand by me if I was in a muss.”
“Oh, yes, he would.”
“Here’s a whole lot of duffers,” Quick waved his arm around, “and every one of them claims to be my dear friend. Did any of them go to the front for me? Not one.”
He threw a look of withering scorn upon the habitues of the dive that were gathered at the bar.
“I’m a pretty good friend,” he added, “when they are broke and want a drink.”
“Boss,” said the bartender, “when we got to the back room, Burt Cromwell had out his gun.”
“You shut up!” exclaimed Quick angrily; “or you will find yourself out of a job mighty soon!”
Kidd threw some oil upon the troubled waters by inviting every one in the place to have a drink. Soon afterward he and the dive-keeper adjourned to the rear room, where they seated themselves.
“What is there in the wind?” asked Mike, looking knowingly at his companion.
“I do not understand.”