“Den——” he stammered.
“Yes?”
“Den what’s he goin’ to do?”
“I couldn’t say. I’m expecting to hear shortly. But we needn’t worry ourselves. The next move’s with him. If he wants to comment on the situation he won’t be backward. He’ll come and do it.”
“Sure. It’s up to him,” agreed Spike.
“I’m quite comfortable. Speaking for myself, I’m having a good time. How are you getting along downstairs?”
“De limit, boss. Honest, it’s to de velvet. Dere’s old gazebo, de butler, Saunders his name is, dat’s de best ever at handing out long woids. I sits and listens. Dey calls me Mr. Mullins down dere,” said Spike with pride.
“Good. I’m glad you’re all right. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t have an excellent time here. I don’t think that Mr. McEachern will try to have us turned out, after he’s heard one or two little things I have to say to him—just a few reminiscences of the past which may interest him. I have the greatest affection for Mr. McEachern—I wish it was mutual—but nothing he can say is going to make me stir from here.”
“Not on your life,” agreed Spike. “Say, boss, he must have got a lot of plunks to be able to butt in here. And I know how he got dem, too. Dat’s right. I comes from little old New York meself.”
“Hush, Spike; this is scandal!”