"Hey, Geoff," Spike called, "this ain't goin' to be no à la carte, hock an' claret feedin' match, nor yet no table-de-hoty eat-fest, but if you can do in some bacon an' eggs, you're on!"
"Why, then," said Mr. Ravenslee, rising and yawning, "count me decidedly 'on.'"
"Then d' you mind givin' me a hand wid d' coffee?"
"Delighted!" and forthwith Mr. Ravenslee stepped out into the kitchen; and there, in a while, upon a rickety table covered with a greasy newspaper, they ate and drank with great relish and gusto, insomuch that Mr. Ravenslee marvelled at his own appetite.
"Say, Geoff," enquired Spike as hunger waned, "how long are you stoppin' at Mulligan's—a week?"
"A week—a month—six months," replied his guest sleepily. "It's all according—"
"Accordin' to what?"
"Well—er—circumstances."
"What circumstances?"
"Circumstances over which I have no control—yet!"