"What nonsense," said Milford.
"You speak of nonsense to me," said Bowery Bert, "you little twerp?"
He bent over, pulled something from the snow, and banged it against his stubby legs revealing it to be a furled umbrella.
"You know what I should do?" he said to Milford.
"No?" said Milford.
"I should take this umbarelly and give you a sound thrashing, that's what I should do!"
"Look," said Milford, "again, I'm really sorry I peed on you, but I didn't know you were there. You were completely covered with snow, and, as Addison has already pointed out, I probably saved your life by urinating on you, because otherwise you might have frozen to death."
"And I'm just after telling you, you young pup, that I, as an angel, am incapable of dying."
"Okay," said Milford. "Sure."
"And what is that supposed to mean? 'Okay. Sure.'"
"Nothing," said Milford.
"You think perhaps I am insane, do you?"
"I think perhaps you are drunk," said Milford.
"And what if I am? If you had to be a guardian angel for thousands of hopeless dipsomaniacs, you would be continuously drunk too."
"Okay, well, look," said Milford, "by way of apology, how about if I give you the price of a nice hot all-night diner meal?"
"I don't want your money. You think I need money?"
"Um, uh –"
"I can stroll into the Bowery Savings Bank come morning and take out a hundred thousand dollars if I got a mind to."
"Oh," said Milford, "well –"
"I piss on your pathetic handouts. Just like you pissed on me. Fuck you for insulting me as if I were some common bindlestiff."
"Look, sir, I'm sorry, I just assumed –"
"Yes, you 'assumed', just because I was catching forty winks under a snowbank in a dark alleyway. Well, let me tell you something, buster, never 'assume'!"
"Okay, I won't," said Milford.
The little man now turned to Addison.
"What was your name? Addlesworth?"
"Well, they call me Addison, actually," said Addison. "But, not to be pedantic, my baptismal name is –"
"Did you ever catch up to them two fair ladies I seen you with?"
"Why, yes, in point of fact I did."
"Then why ain't you with them, Addlesbury, instead of loitering with dubious intent in a snow-choked alleyway with Little Lord Fauntleroy here?"
"Well, you see, Fauntleroy – I mean Milford here – had gotten just a little under the weather, and so I thought I would help him home."
"You mean to say you committed a selfless act?"
"Possibly," said Addison.
"I am impressed," said Bowery Bert. "You don't seem the type."
"Normally, I confess, I am not," said Addison.
"But an access of altruism overcame you."
"Yes, I suppose so."
Now the little man turned to Milford.
"You don't deserve such a friend as Allerburgh, Fauntleroy."
"I know," said Milford.
"You don't seem so under the weather now."
"I think I've gotten a second wind, yes," said Milford.
"And are you still in the process of trying to get home?"
"Well, no, you see, I decided after all that I wanted to go back to this bar where we were."
"Because you wanted to get your end wet?"
"I beg your pardon."
"Because you wanted to make the beast with two backs with a maiden fair."
"Look," said Milford, "again, I'm sorry for urinating on you, but I would really prefer not to discuss my personal affairs with you."
"Fine, be like that," said Bowery Bert. "Be a stuck-up prig all your life. I don't give a shit."
"Look, Bert," said Addison, "if I may call you Bert –"
"Please do, Addleburn."
"I beg you not to mind my friend Milford, but he is a reserved sort of chap, you see."
"Is that what you are?" said Bert to Milford. "Reserved?"
"Yes," said Milford.
"Bit of a stick up your ass?"
"Uh, well –
"But you do admit, do you not, that you wanted to get back to that bar in the hopes of committing the act of darkness with a maiden fair?"
"Yes," said Milford, giving up, "I fully admit it."
"Then I just have one question, for the both of youse," said Bert. "What the hell are yez doing in this alleyway in the midst of this blizzard?"
"We got lost," said Addison.
"You got lost," said Bert.
"Yes," said Addison. "By the time we decided to go back to the bar with the ladies, we had gotten lost in this warren of dim and dark corridors, and one thing led to another, we had several strange adventures, we were chased by an angry mob for one thing, and–"
"You got lost."
"Yes," said Addison. "And, anyway, we came to this door, and we opened it, and went outside, and –"
"And now here you are."
"Yes," said Addison. "Here we are."
"Standing in a dark alleyway in a blizzard."
"Yes," said Addison.
The little man undid the fastening-button on his umbrella, and unfurled it above his head.
"You two are rather hopeless, aren't you?" he said.
Neither Addison or Milford replied to this question. Who were they to say if they were hopeless?
And what was hope after all at bottom and in the end but the desire to live, even if to live was so consistently disappointing?
The little fellow reached into a pocket and brought out a stub of a twisted cigarillo, and put it into his mouth. Only now did our two heroes – who both lacked the novelist's and the poet's eye for detail – notice that he wore gloves from which his stubby grimy bare fingers protruded.
Milford thought it was the least he could do to light the fellow's cigarillo, and so at once he reached into his peacoat pocket, brought out his nice Ronson lighter, and after only seven clicks managed to produce a flame from it and ignite the little man's little cigar.
"Thanks," said Bowery Bert, exhaling a great cloud of smoke into the air filled with thick falling snow. "Maybe you're not so bad after all, Fauntleroy."
"I may not be bad," said Milford, "but I don't know if I'm any good."
"Let me be the judge of that," said the little man, or guardian angel. "You know, I don't know why, but the two of youse have aroused my pity, and I am going to help you. I want you both to close your eyes."
"What?" said Milford. He had put his lighter away, and he was wondering why he was still standing here, with Addison, in the bitter falling thick snow, in an alleyway, talking to this old bum.
"I said close your eyes, squirt," said Bowery Bert.
"But why?"
"Oh, just do it, Milford," said Addison.
"I'm afraid," said Milford.
"He's not going to hurt you," said Addison. "Are you, Bert?"
"I might hurt him if he doesn't close his eyes," said Bert.
"Oh, all right, I'll close my eyes," said Milford, and in fact he closed his eyes.
"You too, Addleton," said Bert, and Addison also closed his eyes.
"You got 'em closed, the both of yez?" said Bert.
"Yes," said Addison.
"Yes," said Milford, feeling the snowflakes attack his eyelids behind the lenses of his glasses.
"Okay, now open them," said Bert.
The two friends opened their eyes, and now they were indoors, out of the blizzard, standing in front of a door, a familiar door on which was a sign, that read
Addison took out his crumpled pack of Chesterfields and Milford took out his Husky Boys.
Milford got out his Ronson and gave Milford a light, and then lighted himself up.
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