ing hungry and thirsty when he saw his friend, Mr. Pete Wilson, the slow witted, approaching.
"Hey, Pete," he called, "come up here an' watch this door while I rustles some grub. Keep yore eyes open," he cautioned.
As Pete began to feel restless the door opened and a dignified gentleman with white whiskers came out into the hall and then retreated with great haste and no dignity. Pete got the drop on the door and waited. Hopalong yanked it open and kissed the muzzle of the weapon before he could stop, and Pete grinned.
"Coming to th' fight?" he loudly asked. "It's going to be a h—l of a sumptious scrap—just th' kind yu allus like. Come on, th' boys are waitin' for yu."
"Keep quiet!" hissed Hopalong.
"What for?" asked Pete in surprise. "Didn't yu say yu shore wanted to see that scrap?"
"Shut yore face an' get scarce, or yu'll go home in cans!"
As Hopalong seated himself once more Red strolled up to the door and knocked. Hopalong ripped it open and Red, looking as fierce and worried as he could, asked Hopalong if he was all right. Upon being assured by smoking adjectives that he was, the caller looked relieved and turned thoughtfully away.
"Hey, yu! Come here!" called Hopalong.
Red waved his hand and said that he had to meet a man and clattered down the stairs. Hopalong thought that he, also, had to meet a man and, excusing himself, hastened after his friend and overtook him in the street, where he forced a confession. Returning to his hostess he told her of the whole outrage, and she was angry at first, but seeing the humorous side of it, she became convulsed with laughter. Her father re-read his paragraph for the thirteenth time and then, slamming the magazine on the floor, asked how many times he was expected to read ten lines before he knew what was in them, and went down to the bar.
