" He bore down with his huge hands upon
the yellow keyboard, bringing forth a metallic crash that blended
fearfully with the bartender's voice. "It's a great discovery."
"I'll get him full if you'll help manage him," Locke went on. "And
here's the ticket." He tapped his pocket.
"Where'd you get it?"
"Bought it yesterday. It's first class and better, and he'll fit
my description. We're about the same size."
"Ain't you goin'?"
"No. I've changed my mind. I may jump over to Paris. Come, are you
on?"
Higgins giggled. "Darn' funny idea, if you can get him full."
"Wait." Locke rose and went to the bar, where he called loudly for
the singer; then, when the bartender had deserted the piano, he
spoke to Anthony: "Keep it up, old man, you're doing fine."
For some moments he talked earnestly to the man behind the bar;
but his back was to Higgins, Anthony was occupied, and Ringold
still slumbered; hence no one observed the transfer of another of
those yellow bills of which he seemed to have an unlimited store.
Strangely enough, Mr. Jefferson Locke's plan worked without a
hitch. Within ten minutes after Kirk Anthony had taken the drink
handed him he declared himself sleepy, and rose from the piano,
only to seek a chair, into which he flung himself heavily.
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