“Jim Galvin.”
“He doesn’t have to be on the first line-up just now,” said Tommy.
“He means Fitz Savell,” suggested one.
Tommy shook his head sadly. “I didn’t think you could,” he murmured.
“Well, who is he?” demanded Harry, with a wink for the table at large. “Any one we’ve ever heard of?”
“I can’t say whether you’ve heard of him, Harry. His name’s Hollins.”
“Hollins! You mean Bert Hollins?”
“Absolument.”
“Why, that fellow hasn’t—isn’t—”
“I never said he was,” answered Tommy, pushing back his chair and rising superbly for one of his build. “I said he was going to be. Now don’t chew the rag about it, pie-face, for it’s something you know nothing of. Just remember what I’ve told you and wait for developments. Bon soir, vous pauvre noix!”