It was Higgins this evening who, after the "cripples" had deserted and the supper party had dwindled to perhaps a dozen, proposed to make a night of it. It was always Higgins who proposed to make a night of it, and now, as usual, his words were greeted with enthusiasm.
Having obtained the floor, he gazed owlishly over the flushed faces around the table and said:
"I wish to announce that, in our little journey to the underworld, we will visit some places of rare interest and educational value. First we will go to the House of Seven Turnings."
"No poetry, Hig!" some one cried. "What is it?"
"It is merely a rendezvous of pickpockets and thieves, accessible only to a chosen few. I feel sure you will enjoy yourselves there, for the bartender has the secret of a remarkable gin fizz, sweeter than a maiden's smile, more intoxicating than a kiss."
"Piffle!"
"It is a place where the student of sociology can obtain a world of valuable information."
"How do we get in?"
"Leave that to old Doctor Higgins," Anthony laughed. "To get out is the difficulty."
"Oh, I guess we'll get out," said the bulky Ringold.