"Let's go out when they do," said Mikhail quickly, in Russian, to Feodor.
"All right, silly Olka," was the whispered reply.
"Silly Fedka, to call me Olka," was the whispered retort. "You're a pretty budotchnik,[1] aren't you?"
"Yus," agreed Mr. 'Erb Higgins, nodding cordially to Rupert, and bursting into appropriate and tuneful song—
"Come where the booze is cheaper,
Come where the pots 'old more,
Come where the boss is a bit of a joss,
Ho! come to the pub next door."
Evidently a sociable and expansive person, easily thawed by a chope of cheap wine withal; neither standoffish nor haughty, for he thrust one friendly arm through that of Jean Boule, and another round the waist of Reginald Rupert. Let it not be supposed that it was under the influence of liquor rather than of sheer, expansive geniality that 'Erb proposed to walk a braccetto, as Carmelita observed, with his new-found {{{{block center|
<poem>"friends.…
As the party filed out of the café, Mikhail Kyrilovitch, who was walking last of the party, felt a hand slip within his arm to detain him. Turning, he beheld Carmelita's earnest little face near his own. In his ear she whispered in French—
"I have your secret, little one—but have no fear. Should anyone else discover it, come to Carmelita," and before the astonished Mikhail could reply she was clearing empty glasses and bottles from their table.
- ↑ Guardian, watchman.
