"He's alive, and so he's a--well, he's a no-gooder."

"Yes," says the druggist huskily.

"But I hate to see her pining away, and I'm going to steer her against
the idea that she can get him if she wants him. She's so rich she can
do anything she wants to. I guess if she wants him she can clear out
with him and live in--where is it?--in Moscow. That's about the place
for ducks like him."

"Yes," says the druggist.

Corkey takes the glass graduate in hand. He turns sideways and puts
his arm heavily on the frail show-case. He lifts his foot to place it
on the customary iron railing of a whisky shop. He ruminates.

"The David Lockwin Annex--that means a wing, doesn't it? Yes, I
thought so. Well, the wing is bigger than the--than the--than the--the
wing is bigger than the bird."

It is an observation that Corkey believes would be applauded among the
sharp blades of the telegraph room. He drinks in a well-pleased mood.

"The David Lockwin Annex! The monument! They've given that a stiff
name, too. I've seen some gay things in this town, but that beats me.
It takes a woman to make a fool of herself. And there she is over
there crying for her great hero. Fill this jim-crack with the budge
again. Let her draw as much water as she will--put it to the top
notch!"