CHAPTER XI“Where can we talk?” I asked him quietly, when I had got control of myself.
“Why, ‘ere, General.”
“No, no. A good safe place where we can talk privately and without interruption.”
“Ow! Old Mag’s, o’ course. None better. Your room or mine.”
“Mine,” I said. “Let’s go, old horse.”
We went, taking along a bottle of gin for medicinal purposes. I sat him down in the dilapidated rocking chair, in my bedroom and, staring into his brown face intently, said, “I’ve got a proposition for you, Arold. It’s a whopper, too.”
“Big job?” he said. “You want me on a big job?”
“Yes, you. You’ll be my partner in it.”
“Me?” he repeated incredulously.
“You’re the one chap who can help me.”
The muddy eyes actually filled with tears; it was not a maudlin drunk’s easy weeping, though, but the hon
