One was blown to glory, and, then there were nine--!'"

His head fell forward and again he slept.

"Disgusting," said Emily Bridges; "of course we've got to get him out."

Getting him out, however, offered difficulties. He was a very big old
gentleman, and they were little women.

"We might call the police--"

"Oh, Emily--"

"Well, if you can suggest anything better. We must close the shop."

"We might put him in a taxi--and send him home."

"He probably hasn't any home."

"Don't be so pessimistic--he certainly has money."

"You don't know where he got it. You can't be too careful, Jean--"

The girl, touching the old man's shoulder, asked, "Where do you live?"

He murmured indistinctly.

"Where?" she bent her ear down to him.

Waking, he sang: