“Ah, come along, Dan,” said “whiskers.” “The cops will get you.”
“Copsh? Who’sh ’fraid copsh? Copsh know Dan Tussock, Sammy.”
“Sure they do, Dan,” said another of the men, smooth of face and smooth of manner. “We are just getting our friend here home,” he added in an aside to Paul. “We don’t want him run in, you see.”
But Dan Tussock was very alert, although thoroughly “pickled.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “Friendsh sheeing me home. Shay, meet my friend, Mishter—shay, what’sh your name?” to “smooth face.”
“Why you know your old chum, Dan. You know my name—Sissons.”
“Sure I do. Shis-sh—Shish-sh—what’sh your name?”
“Sissons, you know. Say, Dan, you are pretty well stewed when you can’t say my name,” said the man, with a loud laugh.
“Meet my friend, Shish—Shish—Shis-sh— What the hell name is thish anyway?”
“Sissons! Sissons!” said the smooth-faced fellow, sharply.