“Great Scott, Jim!” he exclaimed, “it’s Bugs Hartley!”
“So it is,” replied Jim, looking more closely. “And he’s pretty well loaded. What’ll McRae say?”
“What he’ll say will be plenty,” returned Joe, “and he won’t stop with talking. He’ll fire him from the team. Look here, Jim, we’ve got to get him into the hotel without Mac seeing him.”
“How are we going to do it?” asked Jim.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to try. Hello, Hartley,” he called, coming up beside the man.
Hartley turned and looked at our hero sourly.
“Hello yourself,” he said with a lurch. “Whaz mazher?”
“Nothing’s the matter,” replied Joe, “except that you’d better come home with us right away. It’s nearly eleven o’clock and it’s time we were in bed. We don’t want McRae to make the rounds and find our rooms empty. Come along.”
Hartley, with an intoxicated man’s stubbornness, was inclined to argue the question, but Joe and Jim ranged themselves alongside and half urged, half dragged him along, until they drew near the hotel.