A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
this night's folly you're losing your last chance? Your last chance, Bob! Think how you called it that yourself! If this lady realised all this meant to you, she'd excuse you, I'm sure. Don't be a fool, Bob! Let me put you in a cab and go right to Stebbins—old Steb'll put you up, and nobody will ever know! You can sleep it off—it's only eight o'clock."
To his unexpected delight Bob yawned sleepily. His eyes were dull, his mouth drooped.
"Sleep it off," he murmured. "I wish I was in bed this minute. Lord, I'm tired. And I know, why, too. I told her bromo-seltzer would settle me. Always puts me to sleep—no good at all. Fool to drink it. Told her so.…"
Dillon's spirits rose.
"That's so," he assented, "it always acts that way with you, doesn't it? Especially with cocktails. Now, you be a wise man. Bob," he urged "and get into this cab"
"And where do I come in?" said the woman sharply. "I call this a little queer, if you don't mind my saying so."
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