“Yes, yes,” I said; “I know all about it, and I’m going to pay them all.”
“That’s a good job,” remarked Wallop, “and the sooner you tell them all so the better. They’d all like to have your present address.”
“I’m not sure that that would console them much,” said Crow. “It’s rather a shadier place than the old one.”
“Yes, when you come to think of it, a fellow would get a bit shy when he read the address, ‘care of Tom Jailbird, Esquire, Up a Slum, Drury Lane.’”
“Look here!” cried I, suddenly starting up; “don’t you call my friend names, please.”
Nothing could have delighted the genial pair more than my excitement. They greeted my protest with laughter, and winking at one another, continued to talk among themselves.
“Good practice, I should think. Crow, living with a chap like that—get used to prison fare. Come all the easier later on.”
“Wonder if they practise picking one another’s pockets to keep their hands in, of an evening.”
“I’m told that jailbird has got an album full of tickets-of-leave.”
“Ah! His father must have travelled a good bit in his time.”