"S-s-sh!" says he. "She don't know a thing about that. I'll have to call it off. Give me two minutes, will you?"
That was Snick, all over—losin' out just as easy as some folks wins. When he comes back, though, and I tells him what's doin', he says he'd like to know just where the lamp was goin', so he could be around after it in the mornin'.
"Sure," says I. "Bring it along up with you, then, there won't be any chance of our losin' it."
So all three of us goes back to the hotel. Pinckney wa'n't sayin' a word, actin' like he was kind of dazed, but watchin' Snick all the time. As we gets into the elevator, he pulls me by the sleeve and whispers:
"I say, Shorty, which one is it?"
"The south one," says I.
It wasn't till we got clear into Sir Hunter's reception room, under the light, that Pinckney heaves up something else.
"Oh, I say!" says he, starin' at Snick. "Beg pardon for mentioning it, but yours is a—er—you have blue eyes, haven't you, Mr. Butters?"
"That's right," says Snick.
"And Sir Hunter's are brown. It will never do," says he.