“If you need lunch money, I’ll give it to you.”
“No, no. That bet’s off.”
“It’s not off. I won’t call it off.”
“Suit yourself,” said Tommy graciously.
At half-past nine, it was officially decided that Billy had lost the bet. At half-past twelve, Billy said it was time to pay it.
“I’m not hungry enough,” said Tommy.
“Hungry or no hungry,” said Billy, “I buy your lunch now or I don’t buy it. See? Hungry or no hungry.”
“What’s the hurry?” asked Tommy.
“I guess you know what’s the hurry. Me for South Bend on the one-forty, and I got to go to the office first. Hurry or no hurry.”
“Listen to reason, Bill. How are you going to eat lunch, go to the office, buy a dozen Christmas presents and catch the one-forty?”
“Christmas presents! I forgot ’em! What do you think of that? I forgot ’em. Good night!”
“What are you going to do?”
“Do! What can I do? You got me into this mess. Get me out!”
“Sure, I’ll get you out if you’ll listen to reason!” said Tommy. “Has this one-forty train got anything on you? Are you under obligations to it? Is the engineer your girl’s uncle?”
“I guess you know better than that. I guess you know I’m not engaged to a girl who’s got an uncle for an engineer.”
“Well, then, what’s the next train?”
“That’s the boy, Tommy! That fixes it! I’ll go on the next train.”
“You’re sure there is one?” asked Tommy.
“Is one! Say, where do you think South Bend is? In Europe?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” said Tommy.
“South Bend’s only a two-hour run. Where did you think it was? Europe?”
“I don’t care where it is. The question is, what’s the next train after one-forty?”
“Maybe you think I don’t know,” said Billy. He called the gentleman with the apron. “What do you know about this, Charley? Here’s an old pal of mine who thinks I don’t know the timetable to South Bend.”
“He’s mistaken, isn’t he?” said Charley.
“Is he mistaken? Say, Charley, if you knew as much as I do about the timetable to South Bend, you wouldn’t be here.”
“No, sir,” said Charley. “I’d be an announcer over in the station.”
“There!” said Billy triumphantly. “How’s that, Tommy? Do I know the timetable or don’t I?”
“I guess you do,” said Tommy. “But I don’t think you ought to have secrets from an old friend.”
“There’s no secrets about it, Charley.”
“My name is Tommy,” corrected his friend.
“I know that. I know your name as well as my own, better’n my own. I know your name as well as I know the timetable.”
“If you’d just tell me the time of that train, we’d all be better off.”
“I’ll tell you, Tommy. I wouldn’t hold out anything on you, old boy. It’s five twenty-five.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure! Say, I’ve taken it a hundred times if I’ve taken it once.”
“All right,” said Tommy. “That fixes it. We’ll go in and have lunch and be through by half-past one. That’ll give you four hours to do your shopping, get to your office and make your train.”
“Where you going while I shop?”
“Don’t bother about me.”
“You go along with me.”
“Nothing doing.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
But this argument was won by Mr. Bowen. At ten minutes of three, when they at last called for the check, Mr. Richards looked on the shopping expedition in an entirely different light. Two hours before, it had not appealed to him at all. Now he could think of nothing that would afford more real entertainment. Mr. Richards was at a stage corresponding to Billy’s twenty-one. Billy was far past it.
“What we better do,” said Tommy, “is write down a list of all the people so we won’t forget anybody.”
“That’s the stuff!” said Billy. “I’ll name ’em, you write ’em.”
So Tommy produced a pencil and took dictation on the back of a menu-card.
“First, girl’s father, Sam’l McDonald.”
“Samuel McDonald,” repeated Tommy. “Maybe you’d better give me some dope on each one, so if we’re shy of time, we can both be buying at once.”
“All right,” said Billy. “First, Sam’l McDonal’. He’s an ol’ crab. Raves about cig’rettes.”
“Like ’em?”
“No. Hates ’em.”
“Sam’l McDonald, cigarettes,” wrote Tommy. “Old crab,” he added.
When the important preliminary arrangement had at last been completed, the two old college chums went out into the air.
“Where do we shop?” asked Tommy.
“Marsh’s,” said Billy. “ ’S only place I got charge account.”
“Maybe we better take a taxi and save time,” suggested Tommy.
So they waited five minutes for a taxi and were driven to Marsh’s, two blocks away.
“We’ll start on the first floor and work up,” said Tommy, who had evidently appointed himself captain.
They found themselves among the jewelry and silverware.
“You might get something for the girl here,” suggested Tommy.
“Don’t worry ’bout her,” said Billy. “Leave her till las’.”
“What’s the limit on the others?”
“I don’t care,” said Billy. “Dollar, two dollars, three dollars.”
“Well, come on,” said Tommy. “We got to make it snappy.”
But Billy hung back.
“Say, ol’ boy,” he wheedled. “You’re my ol’st frien’. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” agreed Tommy.
“Well, say, ol’ frien’, I’m pretty near all in.”
“Go home, then, if you want to. I can pull this all right alone.”
“Nothin’ doin’. But if I could jus’ li’l nap, ten, fifteen minutes—you could get couple things here on fir’ floor and then come get me.”
“Where?”
“Third floor waitin’-room.”
“Go ahead. But wait a minute. Give me some of your cards. And will I have any trouble charging things?”
“Not a bit. Tell ’em you’re me.”
It was thus that Tommy Richards was left alone in a large store, with Billy Bowen’s charge account, Billy Bowen’s list, and Billy Bowen’s cards.
He glanced at the list.
“ ‘Samuel McDonald, cigarettes. Old crab,’ ” he read.
He approached a floorwalker.
“Say, old pal,” he said. “I’m doing some shopping and I’m in a big hurry. Where’d I find something for an old cigarette fiend?”
“Cigarette-cases, two aisles down and an aisle to your left,” said Old Pal.
Tommy raised the limit on the cigarette-case he picked out for Samuel McDonald. It was $3.75.
“I’ll cut down somewhere else,” he thought. “The father-in-law ought to be favored a little.”
“Charge,” he
