sort 'ere.'
'Den you ain't my long-lost brudders after all,' said the newcomer,
regretfully. 'I t'ought youse didn't look handsome enough for dat.
Good-night to youse, gents.'
'Shet that door, can't yer, when I'm telling yer!' said the mummy,
with increased asperity.
Spike was reluctantly withdrawing, when Jimmy rose.
'One moment,' he said.
Never in his life had Jimmy failed to stand by a friend in need.
Spike was not, perhaps, exactly a friend, but even an acquaintance
could rely on Jimmy when down in the world. And Spike was manifestly
in that condition.
A look of surprise came into the Bowery Boy's face, followed by one
of stolid woodenness. He took the sovereign that Jimmy held out to
him with a muttered word of thanks, and shuffled out of the room.
'Can't see what you wanted to give him anything for,' said Lord
Dreever. 'Chap'll only spend it getting soused.'
'Oh, he reminded me of a man I used to know.'
'Did he? Barnum's what-is-it, I should think,' said his lordship.
'Shall we be moving?'
CHAPTER X
JIMMY ADOPTS A LAME DOG
A black figure detached itself from the blacker shadows, and
shuffled stealthily to where Jimmy stood on the doorstep.
'That you, Spike?' asked Jimmy.
'Dat's right, boss.'
'Come on in.'
He led the way up to his rooms, switched on the electric light, and
shut the door. Spike stood blinking at the sudden glare. He twirled
his battered hat in his hands. His red hair shone fiercely.
Jimmy inspected him out of the corner of his eye, and came to the
conclusion that the Mullins finances must be at a low ebb. Spike's
costume differed in several important details from that of the
ordinary well-groomed man about town. There was nothing of the
flaneur about the Bowery Boy. His hat was of the soft black felt
fashionable on the East Side of New York. It was in poor condition,
and looked as if it had been up too late the night before. A black
tail-coat, burst at the elbows and stained with mud, was tightly
buttoned across his chest, this evidently with the idea of
concealing the fact that he wore no shirt--an attempt which was not
wholly successful. A pair of gray flannel trousers and boots out of
which two toes peeped coyly completed the picture.
Even Spike himself seemed to be aware that there were points in his
appearance which would have distressed the editor of a men's
fashion-paper.
''Scuse these duds,' he said. 'Me man's bin an' mislaid de trunk
wit' me best suit in. Dis is me number two.'
'Don't mention it, Spike,' said Jimmy. 'You look a perfect matinee
idol. Have a drink?'
Spike's eyes gleamed as he reached for the decanter. He took a seat.
'Cigar, Spike?'
