"You're smart," said Mr. Molloy, deferentially. "You've got a head. Whatever anyone's said about you, no one's ever denied that. You'll think of a way."
"I will, will I? And while I'm doing it, you'll just sit back, I suppose, and have a nice rest? And all you're suggesting that I'm to get out of it...."
"Now, Chimpie!" quavered Mr. Molloy. He had feared this development.
"... is a measly one-third. Say, let me tell you...."
"Now, Chimpie," urged Mr. Molloy, with unshed tears in his voice, "let's not start all that over again. We settled the terms. Gentlemen's agreement. It's all fixed."
"Is it? Come down out of the clouds, you're scaring the birds. What I want now, if I'm going to do all the work and help you out of a tough spot, is seventy-thirty."
"Seventy-thirty!' echoed Mr. Molloy, appalled.
"And if you don't like it let's hear you suggest a way of getting that ticket off of that guy upstairs. Maybe you'd like to go up and have a talk with him? If he's feeling anything like the way I felt when I came to after those kayo drops of yours, he'll be glad to see you. What does it matter to you if he pulls your head off and drops it out of the window? You can only live once, so what the hell!"
Mr. Molloy gazed dismally before him. Never a very inventive man, his bicycle ride had left him even less capable of inspiration than usual. He had to admit himself totally lacking in anything resembling a constructive plan of campaign. He yearned for his dear wife's gentle presence. Dolly was the bright one of the family. In a crisis like this she would have been full of ideas, each one a crackerjack.
"We can't keep him locked up in that room for ever," he said unhappily.