“Course he couldn't,” said Billy, brightening.
“And they wouldn't wait, yu' see. They wouldn't fool away Christmas, that only comes onced a year, kickin' their heels and sayin' 'Where's Billy?' They'd say, 'Bill has sure made other arrangements, which he'll explain to us at his leesyure.' And they'd skip with the cigars.”
The advocate paused, effectively, and from his bolster regarded Billy with a convincing eye.
“That's so,” said Billy.
“And where would yu' be then, Bill? In the street, out of friends, out of Christmas, and left both ways, no tobaccer and no flapjacks. Now, Bill, what do yu' say to us putting up a Christmas deal together? Just you and me?”
“I'd like that,” said Billy. “Is it all day?”
“I was thinkin' of all day,” said Lin. “I'll not make yu' do anything yu'd rather not.”
“Ah, they can smoke without me,” said Billy, with sudden acrimony. “I'll see 'em to-morro'.”
“That's you!” cried Mr. McLean. “Now, Bill, you hustle down and tell them to keep a table for us. I'll get my clothes on and follow yu'.”
The boy went, and Mr. McLean procured hot water and dressed himself, tying his scarf with great care. “Wished I'd a clean shirt,” said he. “But I don't look very bad. Shavin' yesterday afternoon was a good move.” He picked up the arrow-head and the kinni-kinnic, and was particular to store them in his safest pocket. “I ain't sure whether you're crazy or not,” said he to the man in the looking-glass. “I ain't never been sure.” And he slammed the door and went down-stairs.