But, after an _amazing_ dinner at an uptown house of call, Archibald took the reins into his own guidance, and led him forth to quite other distractions--in the agricultural quarter of the city, where that popular and ever-blooming cereal, wild oats, is sown by night and by day.
Behind them the plausible Mr.Mitchell and his old friend's son held high commune.
"Why, the lantern-jawed, bug-eyed, rubber-necked, double-jointed, knock-kneed, splay-foot, hair-lipped, putty-brained country Jake! Did you see him sidestep that ?" demanded the aggrieved Bickford, forgetting, in his pique, his stricken father.

"What you want to do to him is to sandbag him, give him knockout drops, stab him under the fifth rib! He's too elusive--the devil-sent----" He was proceeding to further particulars when Mitchell checked him.
"I want you to bear in mind that this is no strong-arm gang, and I'm neither dip nor climber." His emphasis was withering.

"My credit is involved in this affair now, and I'm going through with it.

If he'd had the dough with him he'd handed it out just like he did the check.
He floundered out through pure, unadulterated innocence.

I'll land him yet.