"There's no doubt about his needin' it," says I. "My guess is that a
half would be a life saver to him just now."

"Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, I
haven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how---- Did you say
he was still there?"

"Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off," says I.

"Then keep him there until I come," says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, I
must come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until I
get there."

"Got you," says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum."

I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest,
from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, his
head to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose and
forehead--well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slips
through the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meets
Mr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt.

"You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he.

"I'm only sure that's what he said," says I. "But you can settle that
soon enough. There he is, over there by the window."

"Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he's
changed wonderfully." With that he marches up and taps the object on
the shoulder. "I say," says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, are