"I like your nerve!" he went on. "Having a spread and not tipping a fellow off. Is it all gone?" and with a sweep of his arm he sent the paper cover flying from over the half-emptied ginger ale glasses. "Where's Peaches?" he demanded. "I know he's out, for I was at his den, and there's not a soul in. He's got a 'dummy' in the bed, but it's rank. Wouldn't fool anybody."