“No, Lovey. If we want to go we’ll go—but we’re buddies, aren’t we? And we’ll stick by each other.” “Say, you fellows! Quick march! I’ve only got half an hour to get there and back.” Out in the street, Lovey and I hung behind our guide. He was too brisk and smart and clean for us to keep step with. Alone we could, as we phrased it, get by. With him the contrast called attention to the fact that we were broken and homeless men. “You go ahead, Pyn—” I began. “Aw, cut that out!” he returned, scornfully. “Wasn’t I a worse looker than you, two and a half years ago? Old Colonel Straight picked me up from a bench in Madison Square—the very bench from which he’d been picked up himself—and dragged me down to Vandiver Street like a nurse’ll drag a boy that kicks like blazes every step of the way.” As we were now walking three abreast, with Pyn in the middle, I asked the question that was most on my mind: “Was it hard, Pyn—cutting the booze out?” “Sure it was hard! What do you think? You’re not on the way to a picnic. For the first two weeks I fought like hell. If the other guys hadn’t sat on my head—well, you and old Lovey wouldn’t have had no glass of hot chocolate this morning.” “I suppose the first two weeks are the worst.” “And the best. If you’re really out to put the job through you find yourself toughening to it every day.” “And you mean by being out to put the job through?” “Wanting to get the durned thing under you so as you can stand on it and stamp it down. Booze’ll make two kinds of repenters, and I guess you guys stand for both. Old Lovey here”—he pinched my companion’s arm—“he’ll forsake his bad habits just long enough to get well fed up, a clean shirt on his back, and his nerves a bit quieted down. But he’ll always be looking forward to the day when he’ll be tempted again, and thinking of the good time he’ll have when he falls.” “If you’ll mind yer own business, young Pyn—” Lovey began, irritably. “Then there’s another kind,” this experienced reformer went on, imperturbably, “what’ll have a reason for cutting the blasted thing out, like he’d cut out a cancer or anything else that’ll kill him. I’ve always known you was that kind, Slim, and I told you so nearly a year ago.” “I seen ye,” Lovey put in. “Was speakin’ about it only yesterday. Knew you was after no good. I warned ye, didn’t I, Slim?” Curiosity prompted me to say, “What made you think I had a motive for getting over it?” “Looks. You can always tell what a man’s made for by the kind of looker he is. As a looker you’re some swell. Lovikins here, now—” “If I can’t do as well as the likes o’ you, ye poor little snipe of a bartender for babies—” “What’ll you bet you can’t?” Pyn asked, good-naturedly. “I ain’t a bettin’ man, but I can show!” “Well, you show, and I’ll lay fifty cents against you. You’ll be umpire, Slim, and hold the stakes. Is that a go?”