wasn't that Bob Ellins you were just talking to?"

"Eh?" says I, glancin' at him some astonished; for a seedier specimen
you couldn't find up and down the avenue. "What do you know about him,
if it was?"

"More than his name," says the wreck. "He--he's an old friend of mine."

"Oh, of course," says I. "Anyone could tell that at a glimpse. I
expect you used to belong to the same club too?"

"Is old Barney still on the door?" says he.

And, say, he had the right dope on that. Not three minutes before I'd
heard Mr. Robert call the old gink by name. But that hardly proved the
case.

"Clever work," says I. "What was it you used to do there, take out the
ashes."

"I don't wonder you think so," says he; "but it's a fact that Bob and I
are old friends."

"Why don't you tackle him, then," says I, "instead of botherin' a busy
man like me? Go back and call him out."

"I haven't the face," says he. "Look at me!"

"I have," says I, "and, if you ask me, you look like something the cat
brought in."