"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.
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