Sir Thomas extended three fingers. Jimmy extended two, and the handshake was not a success.
At this point in the interview, Spike came up, chuckling amiably, with a magazine in his hand.
"P'Chee!" said Spike. "Say, Mr. Chames, de mug what wrote dis piece must ha' bin livin' out in de woods for fair. His stunt ain't writin', sure. Say, dere's a gazebo what wants to get busy wit' de heroine's jools what's locked in de drawer in de dressin' room. So dis mug, what do youse t'ink he does? Why——"
"Another friend of yours, Spennie?" inquired Sir Thomas politely, eying the red-haired speaker with interest.
"It's——"
He looked appealingly at Jimmy.
"It's only my man," said Jimmy. "Spike," he added in an undertone, "to the woods. Chase yourself. It's not up to you to do stunts on this beat. Fade away."
"Sure," said the abashed Spike, restored to a sense of his position. "Dat's right. I've got wheels in me coco, that's what I've got, comin' buttin' in here. Sorry, Mr. Chames. Sorry, gents. Me for the tall grass."
He trotted away.
"Your man seems to have a pretty taste in literature," said Sir Thomas to Jimmy. "Well, my dear, finished your chat with the porter?"