"Righto!" he exclaimed. "Does it every time. Shiver all you like. Good for you! Now then--clothes! Clothes and things, Man! Oh, here they are to be sure! How stupid of me! Feel better already, yes? Knew it. Studs in shirt. My word! Studs! Studs! There! Let me tie it. Here! Look alive man! She would have it. She must have known you. There!" He had finished by clamping Bean's hat tightly about his head. Bean was thinking that the waster possessed more executive talent than Grandma had given him credit for; also that he would find an excuse to break away once they were outside; also that Balthasar was keenly witty. Balthasar had _said_ it would disintegrate if handled. He would leave Nap with Cassidy. He would return for him that night, then flee. He would go back to Wellsville, which he should never have left. The waster had him in the car outside, a firm grasp on one of his arms. "I'll allow you only one," said the waster judicially as the car moved off. "I know where the chap makes them perfectly--brings a mummy back to life--" "A mum--what mummy?" asked Bean dreamily. "Your own, if you had one, you silly juggins!" Bean winced, but made no reply. The car halted before an uptown hotel. "Come on!" said the waster. "Bring it out," suggested Bean, devising flight. The waster prepared to use force. "Quit. I'll go," said Bean. He was before a polished bar, the white-jacketed attendant of which not only recognized the waster but seemed to divine his errand. "Two," commanded the waster. The attendant had already reached for a bottle of absinthe, and now busied himself with two eggs, a shaker, and cracked ice. "White of an egg, delicate but nourishing after bachelor dinners," said the waster expertly. Bean, in the polished mirror, regarded a pallid and shrinking youth whom he knew to be himself--not a reincarnation of the Egyptian king, but just Bunker Bean. He could not endure a long look at the thing, and allowed his gaze to wander to the panelled woodwork of the bar. "Fumed oak," he suggested to the waster. But the waster pushed one of the slender-stemmed glasses toward him. "There's the life-line, old top; cling to it! Here's a go!" Bean drank. The beverage was icy, but it warmed him to life. The mere white of an egg mixed with a liquid of such perfect innocence that he recalled it from his soothing-syrup days. "Have one with me," he said in what he knew to be a faultless bar manner. "Oh, I say old top," the waster protested. "One," said Bean stubbornly. The attendant was again busy. "Better be careful," warned the waster. "Those things come to you and steal their hands into yours like little innocent children, but--". They drank. Bean felt himself bold for any situation. He would carry the farce through if they insisted on it. He no longer planned to elude the waster. They were in the speeding car. "Fumed eggs!" murmured Bean approvingly.