"Socrates! I'm hep to him," Glass interrupted, quickly. "I trained a Greek professor once and got wised up on all that stuff. Socrates was the—the Hemlock Kid."
"Exactly! As Socrates, the Hemlock Kid, deftly put it, 'In hoc signature vintage.'"
"I don't get you."
"That is archaic Scandinavian, and, translated, means, 'Love cannot thrive without her bower.'"
"No answer to that telegram yet, eh?"
"Hardly time."
"Better wire Covington again, hadn't you? Mebbe he didn't get it?"
"I promised Mrs. Keap that I would, but—" Speed lost himself abruptly in speculation, for he did not know exactly how to manage this unexpected complication. Of one thing only was he certain: it would require some thought.
"Say, Wally, suppose Covington don't come?"
"Then I shall sprain my ankle," said the other. "Hello! What in the world—" Still Bill Stover and Willie came into the room carrying an armful of lumber. Behind them followed Carara with a huge wooden tub, and Cloudy rolling a kerosene barrel.