“A temporary sacrifice of your tin shop—” Doctor Allhop suggested, tinning from the skilful moulding of the pills on a glass slab.
“Not a chance! the family figurehead announced that he had taken my watch 'out' for the last time.”
“He wants to plaster it on some Highschool skirt,” Alfred announced unexpectedly.
“This robbing the nursery makes me ill,” William protested. “Out in Denver there are real queens with gold hair—”
His period was lost in a yapping chorus from the west-wearied circle. “Take it to bed with you,” he was entreated.
“Nothing in the Highschool can reach these,” Meredith assured them, “this is the real thing—an all night seance. They have just moved in by the slaughter house; a regular pipe—their father is dead, and the old woman's deaf. Two sisters... one has got red hair, and the other can kick higher'n you can hold your hand. The night I went I had to leave early, but they told me to come hack... any night after nine, and bring a friend.”
“I'll walk around with you,” William Williams remarked negligently.
“Not on three nickles. They told me to fetch around a couple of bottles of port wine, and have a genuine party.”
Anthony Ball listened with rapidly growing attention, while he fingered three one dollar bills wadded into the bottom of his pocket. He felt his blood stir more rapidly, beating in his ears: vague pictures thronged his brain of girls with flaming hair, dexterous, flashing limbs, white frills, garters. With an elaborate air of unconcern he asked:
“Are they goodlookers?”