“Would you mind,” said Archie, “would you mind, as a personal favour to me, old companion, not mentioning that word ‘girls’?”
He broke off. A heavy foot had crossed the threshold of the shop.
“Say, uncle,” said a deep voice, one of those beastly voices that only the most poisonous blighters have, “you seen a young feller run past here?”
“Young feller?” The proprietor appeared to reflect. “Do you mean a young feller in blue, with a Homburg hat?”
“That’s the duck! We lost him. Where did he go?”
“Him! Why, he come running past, quick as he could go. I wondered what he was running for, a hot day like this. He went round the corner at the bottom of the block.”
There was a silence.
“Well, I guess he’s got away,” said the voice, regretfully.
“The way he was travelling,” agreed the proprietor, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was in Europe by this. You want a nice suit?”
The other, curtly expressing a wish that the proprietor would go to eternal perdition and take his entire stock with him, stumped out.