“Say, now, Bud, quit your kiddin’!” said Spike petulantly.
“But, Gee whiz!” exclaimed M’Ginnis, tightening his grasp, “you sure are some class, Kid, in that stiff collar an’ sporty tie. How’s the stock market? Are ye a bull or a bear?”
“Ah, cut it out, Bud!” cried the lad, writhing.
“Right-o, Kid, right-o!” said M’Ginnis, loosing his hold. “You’re comin’ over t’ O’Rourke’s t’night, of course?”
“Why, no, Bud—I can’t.”
“Oh, t’ hell wid that—I got you all fixed up to go ten rounds wid Young Alf, th’ East Side Wonder—”
“What?” exclaimed Spike, his eyes bright and eager, “you got me a match wi’ Young Alf? Say, Bud—you ain’t stringing me, are ye?”
“Not much. I told you I’d get ye a real chance—”
“Why,” cried Spike, “if I was t’ lick Young Alf, I’d be in line t’ meet th’ top-notchers!”
“Sure—if you lick him!” nodded M’Ginnis grimly.
“Say,” said Spike, his face radiant, “I’ve just been waitin’ an’ waitin’ for a chance like this—a chance t’ show you an’ th’ bunch I can handle myself, an’ now”—he stopped all at once, and shaking his head gloomily, turned away. “I forgot, I—I can’t, Bud.”
“Aw, what’s bitin’ ye?”
“I can’t come t’night.”
“Won’t come, ye mean!”
“Can’t, Bud.”
“Why not?”
“I promised Hermy t’ quit fightin’—”
“Is that all? Hermy don’t have t’ know nothin’ about it. This is a swell chance for ye, Kid, the best you’ll ever get, so just skin over t’night an’ don’t say nothin’ t’ nobody.”
“I—can’t, Bud—that’s sure.”
“Goin’ t’ give me d’ throw-down, are ye?”
“I don’t mean it that ways, Bud, but I can’t break my promise t’ Hermy—”
“She’d never know.”
“She’d find out some ways; she always does, and I can’t lie t’ her.”
“So you won’t come, hey? We ain’t classy enough for ye these days, hey? I guess goin’ to an office every day is one thing an’ crackin’ a millionaire’s crib’s another.”
“Cheese it, Bud, cheese it!” gasped Spike, pale and trembling.
“Right-o, Kid!” nodded M’Ginnis, “but I’ve been wantin’ t’ know how ye made your get-away that night.”
“Oh, quit—quit talkin’ of it!” Spike panted. “I—I want t’ forget all about it. I been tryin’ t’ think it never happened.”
“Ah, but you know it did,” said M’Ginnis, “an’ I know it, an’ Soapy knows it did—don’t yer, Soapy?”
“‘S’ right!” nodded Soapy, his voice soft, his eyes hard and malevolent.
“So we kinder want t’ know,” continued M’Ginnis, heedless always of those baleful watching eyes, “we just want t’ get on t’ how you—”
“Oh, say—give it a rest!” cried Spike desperately. “Give it a rest, can’t ye?”
“Why, then, Kid, what about comin’ over t’ O’Rourke’s t’night?”
Spike wrung his hands. “If Hermy finds out, she’ll—cry, I guess—”
“Hermy!” growled M’Ginnis, black brows fierce and scowling, “a hell of a lot you care for Hermy, I—don’t think!”
“Say now, you Bud, whatcher mean?” demanded Spike, quivering with sudden anger.
“Just this, Kid—what kind of a brother are ye t’ go lettin’ that noo pal o’ yours—that guy you call Geoff—go sneaking round her morning, noon, an’ night?”
“You cut that out, Bud M’Ginnis. Geoff don’t! Geoff ain’t that kind.”
“He don’t, eh? Well, what about all this talk that’s goin’ on—about him an’ her, an’ her an’ him—eh?”
“What talk?” demanded Spike, suddenly troubled.
“Why, every one’s beginnin’ t’ notice as they’re always meetin’ on th’ stairs—an’ him goin’ into her flat, an’ them talkin’ an’ laughin’ together when you’re out o’ th’ way—ah,” growled M’Ginnis, between grinding white teeth, “an’ likely as not kissin’ an’ squeezin’ in corners—”
“That’s enough—that’s enough!” cried the boy, fronting M’Ginnis, fierce-eyed. “Nobody ain’t goin’ t’ speak about Hermy that way.”
“Y’ can’t help it, Kid. Here’s this guy Geoff, this pal o’ yours—been with her—in her flat with her, all th’ mornin’—ain’t he, Soapy?”
“‘S’ right, Kid!” nodded that pallid individual, the smouldering cigarette a-swing between pale lips; and, though he addressed Spike, his furtive eyes, watching aslant between narrowed lids, glittered to behold M’Ginnis’s scowling brow; also the wolverine mouth curled faintly, so that the pendulous cigarette stirred and quivered.
“Oh, I’m handin’ ye the straight goods, Kid,” M’Ginnis went on. “I’m puttin’ ye wise because you’re my pal, an’ because I’ve known Hermy an’ been kind o’ soft about her since we was kids.”
“Well, then, you know she—she ain’t that sort,” said Spike, his voice quavering oddly. “So—don’t you—say no more—see?”
“All right, Kid, all right—only I don’t like t’ see this pal o’ yours gettin’ in his dirty work behind your back. If anything happens—don’t blame me—”
“What—what you tryin’ t’ tell me—you Bud?” questioned Spike, between quivering lips.
“I’m tellin’ ye things are gettin’ too warm—oh, Hermy ain’t the icicle she tries t’ make out she is.”
“An’ I’m tellin’ you—you’re a liar, Bud M’Ginnis—a dirty liar!” cried the boy.
M’Ginnis’s bull neck swelled; between his thick, black brows a vein swelled and pulsed. Viewing this, Soapy’s glittering eyes blinked, and the pendulous cigarette quivered faintly again.
“Now by—” began M’Ginnis, lifting menacing fist; then his arm sank, and he shook his big, handsome head. “Oh, pshaw!” he exclaimed, “I guess you’re all worked up, Kid, so I ain’t takin’ no notice. But savvy this, Kid, if Hermy ain’t goin’ t’ marry me on th’ level, she ain’t goin’ t’ let this guy have her—the other way—not much! I guess you ain’t forgotten little Maggie Finlay? Well, watch out your pal Geoff don’t make Hermy go th’ same.”
Uttering a wild, inarticulate cry, the lad sprang—to be caught in M’Ginnis’s powerful grasp, but, even so, his fist grazed M’Ginnis’s full-lipped mouth. For a moment Spike strove desperately to reach Bud’s grim-smiling face until, finding his efforts vain, he ceased all at once, bowed his head upon his arms, and burst into a passion of bitter sobbing; then, with an agile twist, he wrenched himself free, and turning, sped away, heedless of his jaunty straw hat that had fallen and lay upon the dusty sidewalk. Languidly Soapy stooped and picked it up.
“His noo lid!” said he. “Only bought t’day, I reckon!”
“Gee!” exclaimed M’Ginnis, staring after Spike’s fleeing figure, already far away, “he sure was some peevish!”
“Some!” nodded Soapy. “If he’d happened t’ have a gun handy, here’s where you’d have cashed in for good, I reckon. Yes, Bud, you’d be deader ‘n’ mutton!” sighed Soapy, turning Spike’s hat around upon his finger. “You’d be as dead as—little Maggie Finlay you was mentionin’!”
M’Ginnis wheeled so suddenly upon the speaker that he took a long step backward, but he still spun Spike’s hat upon his finger, and the pendulous cigarette quivered quite noticeably. “Aw, quit it, Bud, quit it!” he sighed. “You know I ain’t th’ kind o’ guy it’s healthy to punch around promiscuous.”
“You mean if he’d missed, there was you, eh?”
“Well, I dunno, Bud, if it had been my sister—maybe—”
“Oh, I know the sort o’ dirty tyke you are, Soapy—but I’m awake—an’ I’ve got you, see? If anything was t’ happen t’ me, I’ve left papers—proofs—’n’ it ‘ud be the chair for yours—savvy?”