Come along home, man; that's the place for you."

But Billy was suddenly a Gibraltar of firmness. "Got date with lovely
blue-eyed girlie--couldn't dish'point her. Unmanly deed--Recky, d' _you_
want bes' fren' ev' had to do unmanly deed, and dish'point trustin'
female? Nev', Recky--nev', ol' man. Lesh be true to th' ladies till hell
runs dry--Oh, 'scuse me Recky--f'got you was parson--till _well_ runs
dry, meant say. That all right? Come on t' Chris'pher Street." And in
spite of desperate attempts, of long argument and appeal on Rex's part,
to Christopher Street they went.

The ministering angel had no hankering to risk his charge in a
street-car, so, as the distance was not great, they walked.

Fairfax's dread was that, having saved his friend so far, he should
attract the attention of a policeman and be arrested. So he kept a sharp
lookout for bluecoats and passed them studiously on the other side. What
was his horror therefore, turning a corner, to turn squarely into the
majestic arm of the law, and what was his greater horror, to hear Billy
Strong suavely address him. Billy lifted his hat to the large, fat
officer as he might have lifted it to his sweetheart in her box at the
Horse Show.

"Would you have the g--goodness to tell me," he inquired, with
distinguished courtesy, "if this is"--Billy's articulation was
improving, but otherwise he was just as tipsy as ever--"if this
is--Chris-to-pher Street--or--or Wednesday?"

"Hey?" inquired the policeman, and stared. Repartee seemed not to be his
forte.