"Think o' that, now!" nodded the Spider, "a millionaire now—how nice! An' what do they call ye at home?"
"Geoffrey Ravenslee."
"How much?" exclaimed the Spider, falling back a step. "The guy as went ten rounds with Dick Dunoon at th' 'National?' The guy as won th' Auter-mobile Race? Th' guy as bought up Mulligan's—you?"
"Why, yes. By the way, I sat in the front row and watched you lick Larry McKinnon at 'Frisco; I was afraid you were going to recognise me, once or twice."
"Then, you—you have got a yacht, th' big one as lays off Twenty-third Street?"
"Also seven cars; that's why I want you for a chauffeur."
"Ho-ly Gee!" murmured the dazed Spider. "Well, say, you sure have got me goin'! A millionaire! A peanut cart! A yacht! Well, say, I—I guess it's time I got on me way. S' long!"
"No you don't, my Spider; you're coming home with me."
"What—me? Not much I ain't—no, sir! I ain't no giddy gink t' go dinin' with millionaires in open-faced clo'es—not me!"
"But you're coming to have dinner with that same peanut man who learned to respect you because you were a real, white man, Spider Connolly. And that's another reason why I want you for my chauffeur."