"Is he over at O'Rourke's, Tony?" enquired Ravenslee, sitting upright.
"I bet-a-my-life, yes—"
"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, clasping bony hands. "If they bring him home drunk like they did last time!"
"They shan't do that, Mrs. Trapes. Don't worry, I'll go and fetch him," said Ravenslee, getting to his feet.
"Fetch him? From O'Rourke's? Are ye crazy? You'd get half-killed like as not. Oh, they're a bad, ugly lot down there!"
"I feel rather ugly myself," said Ravenslee, looking around for the shabby hat; "anyway, I'm going to see."
"Why, then, if you're goin' t' venture among that lot, you take this with ye, Mr. Geoffrey," and she thrust the poker into his hand. "You'll sure need it—ah, do now!" But Ravenslee laughed and set it aside. "You'd better take it, Mr. Geoffrey; fists is fists, but gimme a poker—every time! A poker ain't t' be sneezed at! What, goin'—an' empty-'anded? Mr. Geoffrey, I'm surprised at you. Think of Hermy!"
"That's just what I am doing."
"Well, s'posin' they hurt you! What'll Hermy do?"
"You think she'd mind, then, though I'm—only a peanut man?"