Am I forgive?”
The Spider, flushing redder than ever, rose to his feet, seized her hand, shook it, and muttered: “Sure!”
When the table was laid, the Old Un proposed, and was duly seconded, thirded, and fourthed, that Mrs. Trapes be elected into the chair to pour out the tea, which she proceeded to do forthwith, while the Old Un, seated at her right hand, kept a wary eye roving between jam dish and angel cake. And by reason of the unwonted graciousness of Mrs. Trapes, of Ravenslee’s tact and easy assurance, and the Old Un’s impish hilarity, all diffidence and restraint were banished, and good fellowship reigned supreme, though the Spider was interrupted in the midst of a story by the Old Un suddenly exclaiming:
“Keep your hand out o’ the jam, Joe!”
And Joe was later rendered speechless, hard-breathing, and indignant, by the Old Un turning to Mrs. Trapes with the shrill warning:
“Ma’am, Joe’s ‘ad two ‘elpin’s o’ cake an’ got ‘is ‘orrid eye on what remains!”
Nevertheless, the meal was in all ways a success, and Ravenslee was reaching for his pipe when Mrs. Trapes, summoned to the front door by a feverish knocking, presently came back followed by Tony, whose bright eyes looked wider than usual as he saluted the company.
“Hey, Geoff, me tell-a you piece-a da-noos!” he cried excitedly, “big-a piece-a da-noos. Da cops go-a pinch-a Bud-a M’Ginn’!”
“Bud? Bud?” stammered the Spider. “Have they pinched Bud? Is this the straight goods, Tony?”
“Sure—they gott-a heem this-a morn in Jersey City—’n’ say, he think-a eet a frame-up—he theenk-a Geoff set-a de cops for-a take heem.”
“The hell he does!” exclaimed the Spider, starting to his feet.
“So he send-a da word to Soapy,” continued Tony, his eyes rolling, “an’ now all-a da gang’s out layin’ for-a Geoff. So when Geoff go-a out on da street—bingo! Dey snuff hees light out—”
“Not much they won’t!” said the Spider, buttoning up his coat and turning to the door. “I’ll mighty soon fix this, I guess.”
“Do you think you can, Spider?” enquired Ravenslee. “If you’re going to have any trouble, don’t bother about —”
“Bo,” said the Spider, squaring his big jaw, “get onto this: here’s where I chip in with ye; from now on we’re in this game together, an’ I ain’t a guy as’ll lay down his hand till I’m called—an’ called good, see? You said it was goin’ t’ be a man’s work—by Jiminy Christmas, it looks like you’re right; anyway, I stand in with you, that’s sure— put it there, bo!”
“But,” said Ravenslee, as their hands gripped, “I don’t want you to take any chances on my account, or run any—”
“Fudge, bo, fudge! I ain’t takin’ no chances—”
“Well, I’m coming along to see you don’t!” said Ravenslee, reaching for his hat.
“Not on your life, bo; you’d queer th’ whole show. Y’ see, they’re a tough crowd an’ apt t’ act a bit hasty now an’ then; ‘sides, they might think you’re heeled, and they know I don’t never carry a gun—they all know me—”
“Still, I’m coming, Spider—”
“Y’ can’t, bo; Mrs. Trapes ain’t goin’ t’ let ye—look at her!”
“You never spoke a truer word since you drawed the vital air, Spider Connolly!” nodded Mrs. Trapes, hands on hips and elbows at the “engage.” “If Mr. Geoffrey stirs out this day, he’s jest gotter trample over my mangled remains, that’s all!”
Heeding the glitter in her eye and noting the inexorable jut of her elbows, Ravenslee sat down and went on filling his pipe.
“Y’ see, bo, I know as it wasn’t you as give Bud away, an’ the boys’ll listen t’ my say-so—you bet they will. So here’s where I ooze away. S’ long, all!”
The Old Un, having bolted the last handful of cake, got upon his legs and clutched the Spider’s coat in talon-like fingers.
“‘Old ‘ard, young feller, me lad!” he cried. “If there’s any chance of a scrap comin’ off—wot about me? Gimme me ‘at, Joe, an’ get yourn; if I don’t knock some on ‘em stone cold—call me a perishin’ ass!”
“Why, since you say so, old blood an’ bones,” said Joe, his mild eye brightening, “we will step along with the Spider a little way if the Guv’nor’ll excuse us?”
“Certainly, Joe,” nodded Ravenslee, “on condition that you do just as the Spider says.”
“You mean, sir?”
“No fighting, Joe—at least, not yet.”
“Trust me, sir! What ain’t to be—yet, is to be sometime, I ‘opes,” sighed Joe.
“Good-by, Guv, good-by!” croaked the Old Un, “if I don’t put some o’ they perishers in the ‘orspitals an’ the infirmaries—I ain’t the man I was—
“‘Oh, used am I to war’s alarms I ‘unger for the fray, Though beauty clasps me in ‘er arms The trumpet calls away.’”
So having made their adieux, the three took their departure; though once, despite Joe’s objurgations, the Old Un must needs come back to kiss Mrs. Trapes’s toil-worn hand with a flourish which left her voiceless and round of eye until the clatter of their feet had died away.
Then she closed the door and fixed Ravenslee with her stoniest stare.
