To a sober eye
it would have been patent that Locke was laboring under some
strong excitement; for every door that opened caused him to start,
every stranger that entered made him quake. He consulted his watch
repeatedly, he flushed and paled and fidgeted, then lost himself
in frowning meditation.
"Grandes' fellow I ever met," Higgins was saying for the hundredth
time. "Got two faults, tha's all; he's modesht an' he's lazy--he
won't work."
"Anthony?"
"Yes."
Locke stirred himself, and, leaning forward, said: "You and he are
good friends, eh?"
"Best ever."
"Would you like to play a joke on him?"
"Joke? Can't be done. He's wises' guy ever. I've tried it an'
always get the wors' of it. Yes, sir, he's wise guy. Jus' got two
faults: he won't work an'--"
"Look here! Why don't you make him work?"
"Huh?" Higgins turned a pair of bleared, unfocusable eyes upon the
speaker.
"Why don't somebody make him work?"
The lean-faced youth laughed moistly.
"Tha's good joke."
"I mean it."
"Got too much money. 'S old man puts up reg'lar."
"Listen! It's a shame for a fine fellow like him to go to the
dogs." Higgins nodded heavily in agreement. "Why don't you send
him away where he'll have to rustle? That's the joke I meant.
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