awake. I think I'll wait here for about half an hour, and if Walsh and his friends don't come out by then I guess I'll go home."
Morris hesitated. A sense of duty demanded that he stay and see the matter through, since his newly-made acquaintance with the tertium quid of Walsh's little party might lead to an introduction to the big man, and for the rest Morris trusted to his own salesmanship. But the drummer settled the matter for him.
"On second thought," he said, "I guess I won't wait. Why should I bother with a couple like them? If you're going downtown on the L I'll go with you."
Together they walked to the Manhattan terminal of the Third Avenue road and discussed the features of the disgusting spectacle they had just witnessed. In going over its details they found sufficient conversation to cover the journey to One Hundred and Sixteenth Street, where Morris alighted. When he descended to the street it occurred to him for the first time that he had omitted to learn both the name and line of business of his new-found friend.
In the meantime Frank Walsh and his companion watched the white scientist and the colored savant conclude their exhibition and cheered themselves hoarse over the pièce de résistance which followed immediately. At length Slogger Atkins disposed of Young Kilrain with a well-directed punch in the solar plexus, and Walsh and his companion rose to go.
"What become of yer friend?" the big man asked.
"
He had to go out, Jim," Frank replied. "He couldn't stand the sight of the blood."
"Is that so?" the big man commented. "It beats all, the queer ideas some people has."
"Well, Mawruss," Abe cried as he greeted his partner on Monday morning, "how did it went?"