The Definite Object

Chapter 11

ANTAGONISM IS BORN AND WAR DECLARED

"Why--hello, Hermy!" exclaimed Spike, pausing in the doorway. "Gee, I thought you was--were in Englewood."

Hermione lifted her golden head, stayed her humming sewing-machine, and smiled at him.

"And I thought I'd come home and surprise you. Aren't you glad to see me, boy dear?"

"Why, sure I am!" he answered, and stooping, kissed a golden curl that wantoned at her white temple; which done, he sprawled in the easy-chair and taking a newspaper from his pocket, fell to studying the latest baseball scores while Hermione, head bent above her work again, glanced at him now and then rather wistfully.

"Gee whiz," he exclaimed suddenly, "the Giants put it all over Cincinnati to-day, Hermy. Y' see, Matty was in th' box, an' he sure pitched some game!"

Hermione stopped her machine and looked at him under wrinkling brows.

"I thought you were hunting through the 'wanted' columns, Arthur?"

"Why, y' see I ain't--haven't got to the ads yet, Hermy."

Hermione sighed softly and, resting her round chin in her hands, viewed him silently awhile until, becoming aware of the steadfast gaze of those sweet and gentle eyes, Spike shuffled uneasily and changed colour.

"Arthur," she said softly, "when you promised me to try and find a situation you meant it, didn't you?"

"Sure I did!"

"That was a week ago, dear."

"But, Hermy, I went after that office-boy's job--you know I did!"

"Yes, dear, though you got there too late."

"No, I wasn't late, Hermy, only another guy happened t' get there first--an' got the job! A kid I could have licked with one hand, too. One of these mommer's pets in a nobby sack suit--all dolled up in a clean collar an' a bow-tie an' grey kid gloves. I guess his outfit helped him a whole lot--an' y' see I'm a few chips shy on clothes, I guess."

Hermione looked at her brother's worn garments, shiny at elbow and knee, and as she looked, her eyes were suddenly suffused.

"Yes, dear, I--I'm afraid they are--rather shabby," she admitted humbly. "Your clothes always did seem to wear out so very quickly! And--and it costs so much to live! And--sometimes I grow--afraid--"

The smooth, low voice faltered and ended upon a sob. Spike stared in wide-eyed amaze, for seldom had he seen his sister thus, but now, beholding the droop of that brave head, seeing how her strong white hands gripped each other, he tossed the paper aside, and flinging himself on his knees clasped her in his arms.

"Don't cry, Hermy!" he pleaded. "Oh, don't cry, I--I can't bear it. You know I love you best in the world--ah, don't cry, dear. I--I'll hunt up a job first thing--honest I will--"

"But your clothes are so very shabby!" she sobbed, "and oh, boy dear, I have only just enough to--pay our rent this month--so I can't get you any more--yet, dear!"

"Hermy," said he brokenly, "oh, Hermy, you make me feel so mean I--I--One sure thing you're never goin' t' spend your money on clothes for me any more--? the money you work so hard for! Never any more, Hermy dear. You've done enough for me, I guess, an' now it's up t' me to help you and--and--oh, Gee!" Here Spike's voice broke altogether, whereupon Hermione, quite forgetting her own sorrows and worries, fell to soothing and comforting him as she had done many and many a time during his motherless childhood.

"Say, Hermy," said he at last, his tear-stained cheek pillowed on her soft, round bosom, "you won't think me a--an awful kid for--for cryin', will you?"

"I think I love you all the better, boy dear, and--I'm sure it has done us both good," and, smiling down at him through her tears, she kissed him.

"I'll start in an' rustle up a job right away, Hermy!" said he, rising and nodding grimly.

"Oh, boy," said she, looking up at him fondly, "I shall be so proud of you. It wouldn't matter what it was, or how little you got at first, so long as it was decent and honourable. And I'm sure you'll get on--Mr. Geoffrey thinks so too."

"Does he? I'm glad o' that. Say, how d'ye like Geoff?"

"Oh--well, I've only seen him two or three times," said Hermione, folding away her work preparatory to cooking supper.

"Is that all?" said Spike, smoothing out the paper and scowling at the long columns headed "Help Wanted."

"Ye-es, I think so."

"But you an' him 's always meetin' on the stairs, ain't--aren't you?"

"You should say 'he and you', dear."

"Well--but aren't you?"

"We have met--once or twice."

"D'ye like him?"

"Well, he's so very--different! And rather lazy! And awfully sleepy! And yet I don't think he's sleepy really, somehow."

"Sleepy?" exclaimed Spike. "Well, I guess not! Lazy I dunno, but he sure is all to the wide-awake-o. When he looks sleepiest, I guess he's widest-awakest. And he ain't a--isn't a bad looker, is he?"

"He has nice eyes!" Hermione admitted.

"Oh, I don't mean his eyes!" quoth Spike disgustedly. "I mean his arms an' legs an' shoulders."

"They are nice and wide!" nodded Hermione.

"I should like t' see Geoff in th' ring. He'd strip big!"

"Oh, really," said Hermione, taking a very large apron from the table drawer. "Boy, dear, I do wish you weren't always thinking of fighting."

"All right, Hermy dear. But there ain't no flies on Geoff--'n' say, I want yer to like him 'cause I kinder think he's all to the cream-puffs an'--"

"Arthur!" cried Hermione, lifting an admonishing finger.

"I'm sorry; my tongue kinder slipped, Hermy. But I have been trying t' keep tabs on me talk, honest I have."

"Yes, dear. You haven't been quite so frightful lately."

"Y' see, Hermy, you're different; you went to a swell school an'--"

"And you never did--I know, dear. But oh, Arthur, I did the best I could."

"And a lot better than I deserved," said he, reaching out to pat her hand caressingly. "When I get a good job, I'll stay in nights and study hard like you want me to--I sure will."

"Yes, dear, and you'll soon be heaps cleverer than I am," said she, stooping to kiss his curly head as she tied the apron about her shapely hips; and then, giving him a smiling nod, she vanished into the kitchen, while Spike laboured through the long columns headed "Help Wanted." And presently, as she moved light-footed to and fro in the kitchen, he heard her singing softly to herself, an old, old song of other days that had often been his lullaby when he was a small, motherless armful of sleepiness hushed in her young, protecting clasp.

"Arthur!" she called.

"Hello!" he answered.

"Are you hungry?"

"You bet I am!"

A long pause, whereafter ensued the following conversation between kitchen and parlour:

Hermione. "Boy dear!"

Spike. "Hello!"

Hermione. "Be a dear and lay the cloth for me!"

Spike. "Right-o!"

A longer pause, during which Spike rises and takes cloth from sideboard drawer.

Hermione. "Arthur!"

Spike. "Yes?"

Hermione. "Where did you meet him?"

Spike (starting). "Who?"

Hermione. "Mr. Geoffrey. How did you happen to meet each other?"

Another pause, while Spike stands frowning in perplexed thought.

Spike. "Where did you say the cloth was?"

Hermione. "In the sideboard drawer. How long have you known him?"

Spike (beginning to lay the cloth feverishly). "Oh, a goodish time. Say, Hermy, he sure likes your name a whole lot!"

Hermione. "Oh!" (A very small pause.) "Likes my name, does he?"

Spike. "He sure does. He told me so."

Hermione. "Oh!" (Another small pause.) "Just what did he say, boy dear?"

Spike. "He said it was Greek an' very beautiful, an' then I said it kind of fitted you because you were aces up on the face an' figure question."

A rush of petticoats, and enter Hermione, flushed and laughing.

"You dear boy!" she cried, "for that you shall be kissed!" which he was forthwith; after which she turned to the mirror to smooth back a shining tress of hair--that same rebellious curl that glistened above her fine, black eyebrow.

"Where did you say you first met him--Mr. Geoffrey?" she enquired suddenly, still busied with the rebellious curl. Spike started, and glanced uneasily at her shapely back.

"Say, Hermy," said he, a little huskily, "have you got anything for supper?"

"Not much, dear, I'm afraid."

"That's a pity!"

"Why?"

"Oh, because I asked him in to supper."

"You asked Mr. Geoffrey--here?" she gasped.

"Surest thing you know. Y' see, I thought you was staying over at Englewood."

"Oh, Arthur!" she sighed. "And there are only two wretched little chops! And not a bit of butter! And the rent's due to-morrow--I can't spare a cent--and me in this shabby old gown! and you broke the best teapot."

"Sounds kind of gay an' festive!" sighed Spike ruefully. "But don't worry about the eats, dear. Geoff won't mind, an' he'll never notice your old gown--"

"He seems to notice a great deal," said Hermione doubtfully as she hastily untied the big apron, "and besides--oh, gracious goodness!" she cried, as a knock sounded at the front door, "you must let him in, Arthur--and don't let him know I'm changing my gown!" Saying which, she vanished into her bedroom while Spike hastened to the door.

"Why--hello, Tony!" he exclaimed, "what's wrong now?"

"My lil Pietro," cried the Italian excitedly, "he no sleep--he burn-a burn-a all-a da time,--all-a da time cry! You tell-a you sis--she come-a like-a da las' time den he no cry-a--" But here Tony broke off to flourish his hat and bow gracefully as he caught sight of Hermione herself. "Ah, Signorina!" he cried, "my lil Pietro he seeck. You please-a come see my lil Pietro? He flush-a he cry--he all-a da fire! he burn-a, burn-a, like-a da fire! You so good, so generosa--you come see my lil Pietro?"

"Why, of course I will!" said Hermione in her calm, soft voice, "poor little mite--is he feverish?"

"Si, si Signorina!" answered the anxious young father, "he burn-a, burn-a all-a da time!"

"Reach me the aconite, boy dear; yes, that's it."

"But what about supper, Hermy?" queried Spike wistfully.

"Oh, well--finish laying the table; I'll be back as soon as ever I can, dear."

"Oh, Gee!" sighed Spike, as their footsteps died away down the stair, "she sure is keen on knowing how I met Geoff! And if she ever finds out--" Spike cowered down into a chair and clasping his head between his hands sat thus a long while, staring moodily at the floor, striving for a way out of the difficulty. He was yet wrestling with this knotty problem when he heard muffled knocks at the front door, which, being opened, disclosed the object of his thoughts.

"Why, Geoff," he cried gladly, "I thought you wasn't coming. Say, what you got there?" he enquired, for Ravenslee's arms were filled with sundry packages and parcels.

"Come and see!" said Ravenslee mysteriously. "Catch this one before I drop it!"

"Why--hello," said Spike, sniffing at the package in question as he led the way into the parlour, "it smells good! It sniffs like--Holy Gee, it's a roast turkey! And--oh, say, Geoff--she's a beaut!"

"Precisely what Mr. Pffeffenfifer assured me," said Ravenslee, depositing his other burdens on the table. "Mr. Pffeffenfifer is a man educated in eats, a food fancier, an artist of the appetite! Mr. Pffeffenfifer is fat and soulful! Mr. Pffeffenfifer nearly wept tears over the virtues of that bird--pledged his mortal soul for its tenderness, vowed by all the gods it had breast enough for twins! Mr. Pffeffenfifer seemed so passionately attached to that bird that I feared he meant to keep it to gloat over in selfish secrecy. But no--base coin seduced him, did the trick and--here it is. Also we have a loaf!" and from beneath one arm Ravenslee dropped a package that resolved itself into a Vienna roll. "Also, ham--"

"Hey, Geoff," said Spike in awe-struck tones, "are all these eats?"

"Certainly. I should have brought more if I could have carried 'em."

"More?"

"Most decidedly. When I buy eats, my lad, I buy everything in sight that looks worth while--if Mr. Pffeffenfifer sells. Mr. Pffeffenfifer sells in such a soulfully seductive way that eats acquire virtues above and beyond their own base selves. Mr. Pffeffenfifer can infuse soul into a sausage. Behold now, eats the most alluring. See, what's this! Ah, yes, here we have, item: Salmi, redolent of garlic! Here again a head cheese, succulent and savoury; here's ham, most ravishingly pink--and a Camembert cheese."

"But, Jiminy Christmas--you bought such a lot of each. Who's goin' t' eat all these?"

"We, of course!"

"But we can't eat 'em all!" sighed Spike.

"Can't we?" said Ravenslee, beginning to view the quantity of the numerous viands with dubious eyes. "They do seem rather a lot now I see 'em all together. But I'm ravenous, and if we can't manage 'em, we'll find some one who can."

"Y' see, Geoff, I shan't be able t' eat any o' the rest when I'm through with the turk'!" sighed Spike, a little reproachfully. "My, but I'm hungry! Strange how hungry cold turkey makes a guy!"

"Why, then," said Ravenslee, pitching his hat into a corner, "sit down, comrade, and 'let mirth with unconfined wing'--" Ravenslee yawned.

"I guess we'd better wait a bit, Geoff."

"What for?"

"Hermy."

"Is she--do you mean she's back?" enquired Ravenslee, sitting up.

"Yes, she didn't stay at Englewood; she's down-stairs, doctoring Tony's kid."

"But what will she think of all these confounded messes?"

"Messes!" cried Spike indignantly. "Cheese it, Geoff--look at that turk'!"

"But--do you think she'll--mind?" enquired Ravenslee uneasily.

"Mind?" said Spike, staring. "Not on your life--why should she? Besides, it's kind o' lucky you happened to blow in with this free lunch; she's a bit shy on the dollar question this month--an' Mulligan comes t'morrow. An' oh, say, Geoff--she's dead set on findin' out how I met you an'--an' where."

"Very naturally!" murmured Ravenslee.

"An' we must tell her something--but what?"

"Spike, you've forgotten the mustard! And as for--er--lying to your sister, let our motto be 'sufficient unto the day.' Our present need is mustard, Spike."

"Say, this sure is goin' t' be some supper, Geoff!" said Spike, setting on the mustard and gazing at the array of edibles with shining eyes. "Gee, I could eat cold turkey all night!"

"Have we everything ready, Spike?"

"Except butter, Geoff."

"Ha! the one thing I forgot, of course! Cut off and get some like the good fellow you are!" and Ravenslee flicked a bill into Spike's hand, who, seizing his cap, promptly vanished. Being alone, Ravenslee crossed to the sideboard, and taking thence a certain photograph, seated himself in the easy-chair and fell to studying it with deep and grave attention. And sitting thus, he let fancy run riot--and fancy was singularly pleasing to judge by the glow in his eyes and the tender smile that curved his lip.

He was lost deep within his dreams when he was aware of a loud knock upon the outer door which Spike had left unlatched and, replacing the photograph, he rose.

"Come in!" said he. A heavy step sounded in the little hall, the door was pushed open, and a man entered. He was a young man, big and broad-shouldered, and Ravenslee's keen eyes were quick to heed the length and ponderous carriage of the arms, the girth of chest, and firm, heavy poise of the feet; lastly he looked at the face, aggressively handsome with its dominating nose and chin, and blue eyes shaded by thick lashes, that looked out beneath heavy brows--a comely-seeming face from the dark, close-cropped hair to the deep cleft in the strong, fleshy chin.

But now, beneath Ravenslee's persistent regard, the full-curved, shapely lips grew slowly into a cruel, down-trending line, the nostrils expanded, while the blue eyes narrowed to shining slits beneath quick-scowling, black brows. For a long moment the two men stared at each other, eye to eye, then, in a hoarse, assertive tone the newcomer spoke.

"What you doin' here? Who are ye?"

Mr. Ravenslee sat down and began to fill his pipe.

"Where's d' Kid?"

Mr. Ravenslee brushed stray grains of tobacco from his knee with elaborate care.

"Hey, you! Where's Spike--'n' what you doin' here, anyway?"

Mr. Ravenslee glanced up casually. "And pray, who the devil may you be pleased to be?" he enquired.

"Me name's M'Ginnis!"

"Oh, indeed?"

"Yes--indeed! Bud M'Ginnis--Is that good 'nuff for ye?"

"Well, since you ask," said Ravenslee, shaking languid head, "I should scarcely class you as a 'bud' myself. No--I should say you were perhaps just a trifle--er--overblown. But have it your own way!" and Mr. Ravenslee smiled engagingly.

"Where's Spike?" demanded M'Ginnis, his tone a little gruffer, "and say--you can cut out the comedy, see? Nix on the funny business."

"You are a pessimist, I presume, Mr. Flowers?"

"Where's d' Kid? Speak up now--where is he?"

"Also, your conversation grows a little monotonous, Mr. Flowers."

M'Ginnis stared, then shot out his big chin viciously.

"What you doin' in Hermy's flat, eh?"

Mr. Ravenslee's brows wrinkled slightly, but his soft voice grew softer, as, pausing in the act of lighting his pipe, he answered: "On the whole I think you are a rather--er--unpleasant young man, so suppose you--er--go--"

"What? Go? Are ye tryin' t' tell me t' go?"

"I'm suggesting that you--er--crank up the machine, Mr. Flowers, and beat it while the going's good!"

M'Ginnis clenched his fist and took a threatening step toward Ravenslee, then checked himself and stood breathing heavily.

"May I further suggest," said Ravenslee in his pleasantest voice, "that you look in again--say next Thursday fortnight, Mr. Flowers?"

"T' hell with you--me name's M'Ginnis."

"Of course you might leave a message, Mr. Flowers--"

"Now, see here, you!" said M'Ginnis, his words coming thick with passion. "I wanter know, first, where Spike is. And then I wanter know who you are. And then I wanter know what you're after in Hermy Chesterton's flat--and you're sure goin' t' tell me!"

"Am I?"

"You sure are!"

Mr. Ravenslee opened the matchbox. "Seems a pity to shake a confidence so sublime," he sighed. "And yet--"

"An' see here again! I've known Hermy since we was kids, an' I don't allow no man t' come stamping around here--see? So you're goin' t' quit, an' you're goin' t' quit right now!"

"Do I look like a quitter, Mr. Flowers?"

Now beholding the speaker's lazy assurance of pose, the contemptuous indifference of his general air, M'Ginnis stood speechless a moment, his clenched fists quivering, while, above the loosely-tied scarf, his powerful neck seemed to swell and show knotted cords that writhed and twisted, and when at last he spoke, his words came in a panting rush.

"This is Hermy's flat, an' I guess--you think you're safe here--but you ain't! I'm thinkin' out which'll do th' least harm to her furniture--to lick ye here or drag you out on to the landin' first!"

Mr. Ravenslee lounged lower in the armchair and yawned behind the box of matches. And in that moment, like a maddened animal, M'Ginnis leapt upon him and, striking no blow, seized and shook Ravenslee in powerful, frantic hands, while from between his lips, curled back from big, white teeth, came a continuous, vicious, hissing sound.

"I'll wake ye up!" he panted. "Come out--come out, I say--oh, I'll wake ye up when I get ye outside, I guess. Come out! What you doin' in Hermy's flat? By God! I'll choke ye till you tell me!" and his hands came upon Ravenslee's throat--came to be met there by two other hands that, closing upon his wrists, wrenched and twisted viciously in opposite directions and, loosing his hold, M'Ginnis fell back, staring down at bruised and lacerated skin where oozed a few slow drops of blood.

"And now," said Ravenslee, rising, "after you, Mr. Flowers! Let us by all means step outside, where we will each earnestly endeavour to pitch the other down-stairs--personally, I shall do my very damnedest, for really I don't--no, I do not like you, Mr. Flowers; you need some one to tread on you a little. Step outside and let me try."

While M'Ginnis stared from his swelling, bloody wrists to Ravenslee's face--a face quite as fierce and determined as his own--steps were heard and Spike's voice called:

"Hermy come in yet, Geoff?"

"Not yet--but our friend Mr. Flowers has dropped in--socially, I fancy."

"Mr. Who?" enquired Spike at the door, but beholding M'Ginnis's angry face, he paused there, staring aghast. "Why--hello, Bud!" said he nervously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin' much--yet, Kid, only it's kinder lucky for this guy as you happened in. Who is he? What's he doin' here?"

"He's only a friend o' mine, Bud, an' he's all right, 'n' say--"

"Tell him t' beat it."

"But y'see, Bud--"

"Tell him as we don't want his kind around here or--"

"Spike, did you bring in the butter?" enquired Ravenslee, serenely unconscious of M'Ginnis.

"Yes, here it is, Geoff--but say--"

"It doesn't feel much," said Ravenslee, weighing the package in his hand.

"It's half a pound. But say, here's Bud; he says you're to--"

"My, Spike, I'll trouble you for the butter-dish--thanks!" and turning away, Ravenslee busied himself at the table, whistling softly the while.

"But, Geoff, this is Bud!" cried the lad, glancing from one to the other in an agony of suspense. "Oh, don' ye know dis is Bud M'Ginnis?"

"Ah, still here, is he?" said Ravenslee, without looking round.

"See here, Kid," growled M'Ginnis, "you tell your--friend t' clear out an' t' do it real quick, see? You tell him if he ain't out in two minutes, I'll run him out meself--"

"Spike, this butter is nearly oil."

"Oh, Geoff," groaned the boy, "you've got t' go--here's Bud--"

"Why, then, Spike, tell him to--er--chase himself; I'm busy!" Came the sound of a chair set roughly aside and a shrill cry from Spike: "My God, Bud--don't! Look out, Geoff!"

But, as M'Ginnis came, Ravenslee turned swiftly, ducked the expected blow, and swinging his fist up beneath his assailant's extended arm, smote him hard and true upon the elbow; and Spike, pale and wide of eye, saw that arm fall and dangle helplessly at M'Ginnis' side, while his face was contorted with sharp agony.

"My God, Geoff! What you done t' him?"

"Pins and needles, Spike--that's all. A hoary old trick, but useful now and then. Mr. Flowers isn't so very wide-awake as folks seem to think. You see, it wouldn't have done to knock him out here; he might have upset the table."

"Knock out Bud!" cried Spike, aghast. "But there ain't nobody can lick Bud M'Ginnis!"

"Oh, I don't know, Spike. Anyway, we'll see what can be done--outside! After you, Mr. Flowers! Pray go first, Mr. Flowers! A fellow who would attack a man sitting down isn't to be trusted behind one--so, after you, Mr. Flowers. Oh, we'll wait until you can use your arm, but we'll wait outside. Miss Chesterton's flat is no place for your sort, so--out with you, and quick--d'ye hear?"

M'Ginnis opened his lips to retort, but passion choked him, and snarling unintelligibly, he turned and strode out upon the landing. As they stood fronting each other, very silent and grim and menacing, running feet were heard ascending the stairs, and a slender boy appeared, who, perceiving M'Ginnis, panted out:

"Say, Bud, O'Rourke's been pinched by d' cops! He wants ye t' skin over an' fix it up--"

"O'Rourke pinched?" growled M'Ginnis. "Say you, Larry, what yer givin' me?"

"S' right, Bud, dere's a noo captain on d' precinct, an' he's pinched O'Rourke. 'N' say, Bud, d' game's all balled up; d' push is all up in d' air. 'N' say, O'Rourke's crazy an' can't do nothin', so he sent me t' fetch ye. You're d' only one as can fix d' police, so come on right now before d' whole show's busted up." During this breathless speech the narrowed eyes of M'Ginnis never left Ravenslee's pale, placid face, and in the persistence of this ferocious glare was something animal-like.

"Say, you--Mr. Butt-in!" said he, "I ain't through wid you--not by a whole lot I ain't. Oh, I'll get ye yet, an' I'll get ye good! There won't be nothin' left for nobody else when I'm through wid you. Savvy this--there ain't nobody ever goin' t' queer me with Hermy Chesterton. Oh, I'll get ye good, an' I'll get ye--soon!"

So saying, Bud M'Ginnis turned, and went slowly and unwillingly down the stair.

"Gee, but I'm glad he's gone!" said Spike, as he closed the door. "Gee, but I'm--glad!" and he drew a deep breath.

"So am I!" said Ravenslee, sinking into the armchair, "but there's always to-morrow, isn't there?"

But instead of replying, Spike stood to stare on Ravenslee with eyes of admiring awe.

"I guess you know how t' handle y' self, Geoff," said he.

"I used to think I could, once upon a time," answered Ravenslee, stooping to recover his pipe.

"That sure was some wallop you handed him!"

"'T was fair, I thank you, comrade!"

"I shall be awful sorry to have you leave me, Geoff."

"Leave you?"

"Well, you heard what he said?"

"Yes, I heard."

"An' you know what he meant?"

"I can guess."

"You'd best skin out o' Mulligan's first thing to-morrow."

"What for?"

"Bud says you must, an' he'll make you, worse luck!"

"Oh, how?"

"Well," said Spike in low, troubled tones, "he'll sic d' gang on to you if you don't make your get-away while you can--"

"By God!" exclaimed Ravenslee, his eyes suddenly very bright, "I never thought of that!"

"Yes, so I'm thinking you'd best skin off t'night, Geoff!" sighed the lad gloomily, whereupon Ravenslee, pocketing his pipe, clapped him joyously upon the shoulder.

"Banish that dejection, my comrade," said he, "for now, my Arthur-Spike, 'now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer in this brutal Bud' and--"

"What yer mean, Geoff?"

"I mean that life's erstwhile dull monotony is like to be forgotten quite in the vigorous, exhilarating air of Hell's Kitchen. Hell's Kitchen suits me admirably, consequently in Hell's Kitchen I'll stay."

"Stay? Geoff, are ye crazy? What about Bud M'Ginnis?"

"M'Ginnis, my Arthur? Oh, Bud M'Ginnis may be--hush! Straighten the cloth yonder, Spike; she's coming at last, by Heaven!"