wicked old fingers into it an' lickin' 'em behind my back."

"You lemme an' the jam alone, Joe; it's a free country, ain't it?--very
well, then!"

"Free country be blowed! You mind what I say, you venerable old bag of
iniquity, you!"

"'Niquity yerself!" snarled the Old Un, and snapping bony finger and
thumb under Joe's massive chin, turned and went on up the stairs, his
smart straw hat cocked at a defiant angle, his brilliant shoes creaking
loudly at every step.

"Oh, Gorramighty!" he panted, halting suddenly on the fifth landing to
get his breath, "these perishin' stairs 'as ketched my wind, Joe; it's
worse 'n th' treadmill! Is there many more of 'em?"

"Only six flights!" nodded Joe grimly.

"Six!" wailed the Old Un. "Lord--it'll be the death o' me!"

"Well, it's about time you was dead," nodded Joe.

"Dead ye'self!" snarled the old man. "I'm a better figger of a man than
ever you was--"

"An' you would come," continued Joe serenely, as he deftly resettled the
old fellow's sporty bow-tie. "You fair plagued me to bring ye along,
didn't ye, old packet o' vindictiveness?"