“Where is he now?” I asked.
“I left him in New York,” she said. “I suppose he'll blow in all his money as soon as he can possibly manage to do so.”
And she laughed and did another “shuffle” with her feet upon the floor of the car.
VII. — THE NEEDY OUTSIDER
There was animation at the Nocturnal Club at three o'clock in the morning. The city reporters who had been dropping in since midnight were now reinforced by telegraph editors, for the country editions of the big dailies were already being rushed in light wagons over the sounding stones to the railroad stations.
The cheery and urbane African—naturally called Delmonico by the habitués of the Nocturnal Club—found his time crowded in serving bottled beer, sandwiches, or boiled eggs to the groups around the tables.
To a large group in the back room Fetterson related how he had once missed the last car at the distant extremity of West Philadelphia, and, failing to find a cab west of Broad Street, had walked fifty blocks after midnight and had still succeeded in getting his report in the second edition and thus making a “beat on the town.”
Then spoke up a needy outsider whom Fetterson had brought in at one o'clock.