"He must be in a condition of perpetual want," Pendleton derided.
"When Gladys is around, I am," Devereux agreed. "She keeps me on starvation rations, don't you know."
"Isn't that better than letting you starve?" Gladys asked.
"It is not comparable to being well fed," he responded.
"I can't devote all my time to providing for the needy," she smiled.
"You might at least give me the time you confer on Mr. Porshinger."
"So—that is the fly in the ointment, is it?" she asked.
"You're likely to find before you are through with him that you're the fly and not Porshinger," retorted Devereux.
"Then I shall look to you and Montague to come promptly to my rescue and fish me out."
"It would have been wiser never to have got in. However, as first aid to the injured, Monte and I are some class—and we're likely to be called on to fish someone else than you out of the ointment—that is to say, out of your friend Porshinger's clutches."