"Speaking along this line," spoke up Kinky, "reminds me that I'm dryer'n the desert of Sahary. Suppose we open a bottle?"
"That hits me," agreed Ross promptly.
"I'll go you—for just one bottle," came from the red-whiskered leader of the trio.
Ross chuckled.
"John likes his nip jest as well as anybody," said he.
"What of it?" demanded the leader. "If I've got the sense to take no more than is good for me, what's the odds? The trouble with you, Ross, is that you never stop until you make a fool of yourself. Let me tell you something: Whisky is the worst enemy a man ever had. It'll give him a little 'Dutch courage' for a piece of crooked work, I grant you, but if a crook hangs onto the drink it will ruin him in the end. That's right."
This was refreshing doctrine to come from such a man as Red-whiskers. Matt listened to his talk with a half smile.
"Get the stuff, Kinky," said the impatient Ross.
There was a sound of moving feet across the floor. The next moment a match was lifted directly over Matt's head and a flood of lamplight revealed him to Kinky. The scoundrel flung back with a wild yell.