“You fed one greenback to a cab-horse down at the Café Boulevard,” said Tootles, trying to be helpful.
“Seventy-nine cents,” said King O’Leary ruefully.
“You can buy a lot of peanuts for that,” said Flick, “and, believe me, peanuts are nourishing.”
“Beans are cheap, so is macaroni,” said Tootles, considering. “We might get three twenty-five-cent lunches at Brannigan’s bar.” By this, O’Leary understood that he was definitely adopted by virtue of the axiom of what was his was theirs. “Brannigan’s a friend of mine. Might stretch it a little if I offered to paint his portrait. What did you give Sassafras?”
“Fifty cents, of course.”
“Every time you got into the elevator?”
“By Jove, that’s so.”
“Great system of yours, Flick. Sassafras has got six of it. Of course, we might murder Sassafras,” said Tootles unfeelingly. “Never mind; there’s the stockings. They’re full of nuts.”
O’Leary went to them and emptied them on the table, perceiving the letter for the first time. He took it up, looking at it suspiciously.