"Homesick?" said a thin voice behind him.
He turned to find Finnegan eyeing him uncertainly.
"Why, you wild Irishman," Dink said, surprised. "Thought you'd gone with the crowd. Hello, what's up now?"
Finnegan, with an air of great mystery, locked the door, extracted the key and, returning, enthroned himself on a chair which he had previously planted defiantly on a trunk.
"That's so you can't throw me out."
"Well?"
"I'm going to be fresh as paint."
"You are?" said Stover, mystified and amused.
"Fact," said Finnegan, who, having crossed his legs, plunged his hands into his pockets and cocked one eye, said impressively: "Dink, you're wrong."
"I am—am I?"