"There's no doubt about his needin' it," says I. "My guess is that a half would be a life saver to him just now." "Why, it doesn't seem possible!!" says Mr. Robert. "Of course, I haven't seen Melly recently; but I can't imagine how---- Did you say he was still there?" "Hung up on the rail outside, if the cop ain't shooed him off," says I. "Then keep him there until I come," says Mr. Robert. "If it's Melly, I must come. I'll be right over. But don't say a word to him until I get there." "Got you," says I. "Hold Melly and keep mum." I could pipe him off through the swing door vestibule; and, honest, from the lifeless way he's propped up there, one arm hangin' loose, his head to one side, and that white, pasty look to his nose and forehead--well, I didn't know but he'd croaked on the spot. So I slips through the cafe exit and chases along the side street until I meets Mr. Robert, who's pikin' over full tilt. "You're sure it's Melly Slater, are you?" says he. "I'm only sure that's what he said," says I. "But you can settle that soon enough. There he is, over there by the window." "Why!" says Mr. Robert. "That can never be Melly; that is, unless he's changed wonderfully." With that he marches up and taps the object on the shoulder. "I say," says he, "you're not really Melly Slater, are you?" There's a quick shiver runs through the man against the rail, and he lifts his eyes up cringin', like he expected to be hit with a club. Mr. Robert takes one look, and it almost staggers him. Next he reaches out, gets a firm grip on the gent's collar, and drags him out into a better light, twistin' the whiskered face up for a close inspection. "Blashford!" says he, hissin' it out unpleasant. "Bunny Blashford!" "No, no!" says the gent, tryin' to squirm away. "You--you've made a mistake." "Not much!" says Mr. Robert. "I know those sneaking eyes of yours too well." "All right," says he; "but--but don't hit me, Bob. Don't." "You--you cur!" says Mr. Robert, holding him at arm's length and glarin' at him hostile. "A ringer, eh?" says I. "Worse than that," says Mr. Robert, "a sneaking, contemptible hound! Trying to pass yourself off for Melly, were you?" he goes on. "Of all men, Melly! What for?" "I--I didn't want you to know I was back," whines Bunny. "And I had to get money somehow, Bob--honest, I did." "Bah!" says Mr. Robert. "You--you----" But he ain't got any such vocabulary as old Hickory Ellins has; so here, when he needs it most, all he can do is express his deep disgust by shakin' this Bunny party like a new hired girl dustin' a rug. He jerks him this way and that so reckless that I was afraid he'd rattle him apart, and when he fin'lly lets loose Bunny goes all in a heap on the sidewalk. I'd never seen Mr. Robert get real wrathy before; but it's all over in a minute, and he glances around like he was ashamed. "Hang it all!" says he, gazin' at the wreck. "I didn't mean to lay my hands on him."