"Their perfect right!" Freddy snorted, and got up also. "You were probably imagining things, anyway. Right you are. Let's get on with it. We—Half a minute, my fair weather friend! You haven't left enough money for your share of the dinner."
"One fourth of the bill, plus tip," Dave grunted scornfully. "Read it and weep. Three fourths of that went inside you, sweetheart. I love you like a brother, but I refuse to foot your food bills. Nix! And double nix!"
"Phew, so I did!" Freddy gasped as he ran his eye down the list of things served them. "And the trouble is, I'm still hungry. Oh, very well. Share and share alike, with a tightwad like you. Even figured it out to the penny, too! Now, if you were with me in England—"
"I'd be pleading with the cops not to have you shot for stomach hoarding!" Dave snapped. "Pay up, and shut up. Or pay it off washing dishes. You'd look cute in an apron, Freddy. I could meet you later and let you know what Colonel Welsh has to say. I—"
He stopped and grinned wickedly as Freddy threw him a rapier glare. The English youth paid his share and then joined him as Dave walked out of the dining room. They got their hats from the check girl, and went on out through the hotel lobby to the street. The dim-out had come to New York City, and it made both of them think of London, and other war-scarred cities they had seen.
For several blocks they were too contented with their own thoughts to speak. But when they were almost halfway to their destination, Freddy Farmer broke the silence.
"You know, Dave," he said, "this makes a chap feel rather silly. It's like a game you'd play in school, or something. I mean, why in the world have us follow this particular route? You'd think we had valuable information, and were taking this route to some secret headquarters to throw off possible pursuit. Blasted queer, I call it!"
"You tell me something about war that isn't screwy at first glance," Dave grunted as they turned the corner into Cort Street. "But Colonel Welsh knows his business, and if he wants us to walk all over town to report to him, then we walk all over town. But he sure did pick the darker streets. This one right here makes me think of a coal mine. Watch your step, Freddy, or you may spill into an ash can or something. In this section of town they don't always put them right on the curb. And—"
Dave stopped talking abruptly, and he also pulled up to a quick halt. Freddy went on a pace or two, then stopped and waited.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "Think you were running into one of them? An ash can, I mean?"