“I’ll ‘vag’ the two of them,” he muttered savagely.
The rain had ceased and a few stars began to appear. It was nearly closing time and his watch was of short duration.
At the appointed time, with much bad language and noisy argument, the bar slowly emptied, the last to leave being “Harry” and his companion; the latter quarrelsomely drunk, and expostulating with the bartender, who was escorting him to the door.
“Gimme another drink!” he demanded.
“No chance,” came the answer. “You’ve got enough below. Beat it!”
The speech was accompanied with a sudden shove, and the door banged to.
Still the Sergeant waited.
“Aw, come on, yer crazy mutt!” he heard the soberer voice of Harry say, and saw him walk slowly on down the street, his bibulous comrade unsteadily following.
Keeping in the shade, Ellis noiselessly paralleled their direction, until they were well beyond the last false-fronted store and amongst some vacant lots, not far from the isolated detachment. He stopped for a moment and listened intently. Except for the tipsy arguing of Harry’s companion, who was still in the rear, all was quiet.
“Well, you gimme half, anyway,” he heard him keep chanting.