"Well," said Spike in low, troubled tones, "he'll sic d' gang on to you if you don't make your get-away while you can—"
"By God!" exclaimed Ravenslee, his eyes suddenly very bright, "I never thought of that!"
"Yes, so I'm thinking you'd best skin off t'night, Geoff!" sighed the lad gloomily, whereupon Ravenslee, pocketing his pipe, clapped him joyously upon the shoulder.
"Banish that dejection, my comrade," said he, "for now, my Arthur-Spike, 'now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer in this brutal Bud' and—"
"What yer mean, Geoff?"
"I mean that life's erstwhile dull monotony is like to be forgotten quite in the vigorous, exhilarating air of Hell's Kitchen. Hell's Kitchen suits me admirably, consequently in Hell's Kitchen I'll stay."
"Stay? Geoff, are ye crazy? What about Bud M'Ginnis?"
"M'Ginnis, my Arthur? Oh, Bud M'Ginnis may be—hush! Straighten the cloth yonder, Spike; she's coming at last, by Heaven!"