Chick laughed and lit another cigar.
It was two in the morning, mind you, and both had been busy and on their nerves for eighteen hours, a sufficient excuse for impatience and irritability, which really had no sting.
Patsy grinned and sat down, taking a brier pipe from his pocket and deliberately filling it. Not until he had lit it and wafted a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling did he speak again, and then he stared at Chick and said simply:
“Well?”
Chick settled back in his chair and told him what had occurred.
Patsy’s face then had lost its sphinxlike expression.
“Gee whiz!” he commented. “Say, Chick, old top, this isn’t so bad.”
“Come on with it,” Chick replied, knowing he had something to report. “What have you learned that’s worth knowing?”
“Worth knowing—that’s my long suit with four honors,” said Patsy. “I never pick up thirteen measly duckers, no matter who deals the papes. Say, Chick, old chap, listen!”
“Listen, eh? What do you think I’m doing? Do I look like a lay figure with wax ears? I am listening.”