As the match burned low in his fingers Matthew Higgins leaned over and watched Snod Smooty sleep. This was the first time in ten years he had known Snod to sleep with someone watching him.
The night must have been a swell affair! The smell of smoke reached Smooty’s consciousness; he turned over suddenly and opened his eyes completely. His face was still blank with an effort to see in the darkness, and his voice came huskily:
“Matt?”
The answer was in keeping with the dimness. The match had burned out and Matt Higgins was killing it on the floor with his toe.
“Yeah. Wake up! Any news?”
Snod Smooty raised his slim body to a sitting posture and slung his thin feet to the grimy floor. He ran his left hand through his colorless hair and wiped out his eyes with the right palm.
“Cigarette?”
Matt Higgins took The Morning Call from his overcoat pocket and placed it over the hole in one of the stools. Over that he folded his overcoat and raised himself onto the stool.
“Better not. Watchmen or something. How was the night?”
Smooty put the unlit cigarette sullenly in his hip pocket and said sweetly: