Here Bridge sat on guard over the foaming open sesame to
food while Billy crossed to the free lunch counter and appropriated
all that a zealous attendant would permit him to carry
off.
When he returned to the table he took a chair with his
back to the wall in conformity to a habit of long standing
when, as now, it had stood him in good stead to be in a
position to see the other fellow at least as soon as the other
fellow saw him. The other fellow being more often than not a
large gentleman with a bit of shiny metal pinned to his left
suspender strap.
"That guy's a tight one," said Billy, jerking his hand in the
direction of the guardian of the free lunch. "I scoops up about
a good, square meal for a canary bird, an' he makes me
cough up half of it. Wants to know if I t'ink I can go into the
restaurant business on a fi'-cent schooner of suds."
Bridge laughed.
"Well, you didn't do so badly at that," he said. "I know
places where they'd indict you for grand larceny if you took
much more than you have here."
"Rotten beer," commented Billy.
"Always is rotten down here," replied Bridge. "I sometimes
think they put moth balls in it so it won't spoil."
Billy looked up and smiled. Then he raised his tall glass
before him.
Pages:
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347