Dobbs had drawn his chair up to the table, set Floyd opposite him, and made one hand wash the other with the true gourmand's expectancy while he gave this savory order.
"Well, you bloomin' old milksop! Hi suppose you'll put me in your prayers now, hey? Hey? Hey?"
Dobbs poked Robert under the ribs in a fashion which the young man might have resented in any but a familiar and a benefactor. Apparently his acknowledgment of his obligation was not warm enough for the cracksman, who began grumbling in an injured tone.
"Thankful? Wot's thankful? A word. Hi don't want words. Words is for magistrates and ministers and such like 'ipocrites. Hi want a mark of confidence. 'Asn't Dobbs trusted Bobbs?"
"Yes, he has."
"Well, w'y won't Bobbs trust Dobbs? Are we mis-mated? Do we work at cross-purposes? Hi need a pal, Bobbs—upon which you may remark w'ere is the shillin' comin' from wot's payin' this piper? But there's pals and pals! And if Hi offer my friendship to a honorable associate Hi made the acquaintance of while we was both serving in Col. Mainwaring's regiment, wot's Jim Budge got to say? Cut and run, Jim, says I, and much obliged for your 'elp. 'Ave a glass, Bobbs?"
The waiter had brought in several bottles of ale. Robert filled out a glass of the brown, foaming liquor and poured it down with a gusto that seemed to cheer Dobbs immensely.
"The uniform, Johnnie, and don't overtoast the porker."
Johnnie seemed afflicted once more with his grinning fit, for he stuffed his apron in his mouth when he got to the door.
"What are your plans ahead, Dobbs?" asked Floyd, nibbling a pretzel, while the cracksman helped himself liberally to the ale.