“Oh, cheer up and be a good sport! I know the boys at the desk downstairs and I’m going to tell ’em you’ve cleared out to make way for an old comrade of the Army of the Potomac. I’ll have you moved, and then I’ll put the boss to bed.”
“Anything to please you,” said Kirby ironically, as Copeland began to snore. “Your boss is lying on my coat and I hope you’ll have the decency to pay for pressing it!”...
At ten the next morning Amidon called at the Whitcomb and found Copeland half dressed. He had telephoned to his house for toilet articles and clean linen and presented the fresh and chastened appearance with which he always emerged from his sprees.
“I thought I’d drop in,” said Jerry, seating himself in the window.
“Been to the store?” asked Copeland from before the mirror where he was sticking a gold safety pin through the ends of a silk collar.
“Yes; I took a look in.”
“Any genial policeman lying in wait for me?”
“Nothing doing! Everything’s all fixed.”
“Fixed? How fixed?”
“Oh, I know the way around the pump at the police court, and I had a bum lawyer who hangs out there make the right sign to the judge. You owe me forty-seven dollars—that includes ten for the lawyer.”