“What's eatin' you?” Shorty demanded in indignant astonishment. “An' Sally gettin' naked bald in this crimpy weather! I tell you that dog's sick. Doc says—”
“Let Sally wait. Listen to me—”
“I tell you she can't wait. It's cruelty to animals. She'll be frost-bit. What are you in such a fever about anyway? Has that Monte Cristo strike proved up?”
“I don't know, Shorty. But I want you to do me a favor.”
“Sure,” Shorty said gallantly, immediately appeased and acquiescent. “What is it? Let her rip. Me for you.”
“I want you to buy eggs for me—”
“Sure, an' Floridy water an' talcum powder, if you say the word. An' poor Sally sheddin' something scand'lous! Look here, Smoke, if you want to go in for high livin' you go an' buy your own eggs. Beans an' bacon's good enough for me.”
“I am going to buy, but I want you to help me to buy. Now, shut up, Shorty. I've got the floor. You go right straight to Slavovitch's. Pay as high as three dollars, but buy all he's got.”
“Three dollars!” Shorty groaned. “An' I heard tell only yesterday that he's got all of seven hundred in stock! Twenty-one hundred dollars for hen-fruit! Say, Smoke, I tell you what. You run right up and see the Doc. He'll tend to your case. An' he'll only charge you an ounce for the first prescription. So-long, I gotta to be pullin' my freight.”
He started off, but Smoke caught his partner by the shoulder, arresting his progress and whirling him around.