"Hey!" Puffy grunted. "That ain't ours."
Drake clutched the fur protectively.
"Here—here," he cried. "My coat. Just grew whiskers. My coat just the same."
Before Adams could stop him, Drake was lurching toward the door and into the waiting arms of the doorman. Puffy tossed a bill on the counter and Mary's eyes popped a fraction.
"We'll bring it back when he sobers up," he said quickly. "Must have got the wrong number."
"Thanks!"
"Forget it." He went toward Drake and the grinning doorman. Rescuing his drunken charge. Adams helped him across the walk toward the car.
"Come on, Cinderella. You got a date with the sandman."
Somewhere down State Street came the mournful howl of a siren.
"Whee!" Drake waved the fur in the air above his head. "Fire—want to go to fire."