"And who of us has?" says he. "But at least we give him a tussle now and then. We've broken a fetter here and there. We have worked loose the gag."
Say, he had, all right, or else he'd swallowed it; for as an easy and fluent converser Alvin headed the bill. Course, it's an odd line he hands out, the kind that keeps you guessin'. In spots it listens like highbrow book stuff, and then again it don't. But somehow I finds it sort of entertainin'. Besides, he seems like such a good-natured, well meanin' gink that I lets him run on, clear to 42d-st.
"Well, so long," says I. "I get out here."
"To leave me among the Ishmaelites!" says he. "And I've two useless hours to dispose of. Let me go a way with you?"
I hadn't counted on annexin' Alvin for the rest of the day, and I expect I could have shook him if I'd tried; but by that time he'd got me kind of curious to know who and what he was, and why. So I tows him over as far as the Physical Culture Studio.
"Here's where I make some of 'em forget their egos, at so much per," says I, pointin' to the sign.
"Ah, the red corpuscle method!" says he. "Primitive; but effective, I've no doubt. I must see it in operation."
And an hour later he's still there, reposin' comf'table in an office chair with his feet on the windowsill, smokin' cigarettes, and throwin' off chunks of classy dialogue that had Swifty Joe gawpin' at him like he was listenin' to a foreign language.
"My assistant, Mr. Gallagher," says I, by way of apologizin'.
Alvin jumps up and shakes him hearty by the mitt. "Allow me to offer you a cigarette, Sir," says he.