Rex turned to his cousin with a gesture. "You see, Carty, we can't leave
them. I'm just as disappointed as you are, but it would be a beastly
thing to do, to let them get pulled in as common drunks. What's your
friend's name?" he demanded again of Strong.

[Illustration: "Who's your friend, Billy?"]

"Got lovely name," he averred eagerly. "Good ol' moth-eaten name. Name's
Schuyler VanCourtlandt Van de Water--ain't it Schuylie--ain't that
your name--or's that mine? I--I f'rget lil' things," he said in an
explanatory manner.

But the suicide spoke up for himself. "Tha's my name," he said
aggressively. "Knew it in a minute. Tha's my father's name and my
grandfath's name, and my great grandfath's name and my great-great----"

"Stop," said Rex tersely, and the man stopped. "Now tell me where you
live."

Billy Strong leaned over and punched the man in the ribs. "You lemme
tell 'em. Lives nine-thous-n sixt'-four East West Street," he addressed
Rex, and chuckled.

"Don't be a donkey, Billy--tell me his right address." Rex spoke with
annoyance--this scene was getting tiresome, and although Reed was
laughing hopelessly, he was on his mind.

"Oh! F'got!" Billy's tipsy coyness was elephantine. "Lives _six_ thous'n
_sev_'nty four North S--South Street," and he roared with laughter.