"Go'n have who arrested?" exclaimed Legs, mad all over again.
"'F you do'n git out at once, I'm go'n throw you out!"
"If I ever get my hands on you again, you old cheap nigga; you old broken nigga; you moochin' piker; you pot a-neck-bone stew!"
"Say," cried one of the roomers, just then, "a pair of bulls are coming down the street!"
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Disappearing Chin
Some years before, back in the west, and at the drug store in a little town near which Wyeth owned land, and where, during the cold wint'ry days, the more intelligent and pretentious, as well as argumentative were wont to collect and discuss science, politics and economics, a subject came up one day, that thereafter, became the topic on more than one afternoon's discussion.
It concerned chins, and grew out of the presence of an insurance writer, who was booziogically inclined. And, being so, and a man of no great means, if any, it was a puzzle to many how he could get the means to fill up on liquor daily, and pay for it.