coat pocket with swift definiteness. "A hell of a chance you two
cheap bums 'd have with me."

The talon emerged, clutching ready for action a six-pound iron
quoit.

"We ain't lookin' for trouble, Slim," Fatty quavered.

"Who in hell are you to call me 'Slim'?" came the snarling answer.

"Me? I'm just Fatty, an' seein' 's I never seen you before--"

"An' I suppose that's Whiskers, there, with the gay an' festive
lamp tan-going into his eyebrow an' the God-forgive-us nose joy-
riding all over his mug?"

"It'll do, it'll do," Whiskers muttered uncomfortably. "One
monica's as good as another, I find, at my time of life. And
everybody hands it out to me anyway. And I need an umbrella when
it rains to keep from getting drowned, an' all the rest of it."

"I ain't used to company--don't like it," Slim growled. "So if you
guys want to stick around, mind your step, that's all, mind your
step."

He fished from his pocket a cigar stump, self-evidently shot from
the gutter, and prepared to put it in his mouth to chew. Then he
changed his mind, glared at his companions savagely, and unrolled
his bundle. Appeared in his hand a druggist's bottle of alki.