"Where's d' Kid?"
Mr. Ravenslee brushed stray grains of tobacco from his knee with elaborate care.
"Hey, you! Where's Spike—'n' what you doin' here, anyway?"
Mr. Ravenslee glanced up casually. "And pray, who the devil may you be pleased to be?" he enquired.
"Me name's M'Ginnis!"
"Oh, indeed?"
"Yes—indeed! Bud M'Ginnis—Is that good 'nuff for ye?"
"Well, since you ask," said Ravenslee, shaking languid head, "I should scarcely class you as a 'bud' myself. No—I should say you were perhaps just a trifle—er—overblown. But have it your own way!" and Mr. Ravenslee smiled engagingly.
"Where's Spike?" demanded M'Ginnis, his tone a little gruffer, "and say—you can cut out the comedy, see? Nix on the funny business."
"You are a pessimist, I presume, Mr. Flowers?"