“Aw, calm down, Bud, calm down! Take a drink; it’ll do ye good.” And filling a glass with rye whisky, Soapy set it before M’Ginnis, who cursed him, took it up, and turned to Spike.
“Fill it up, Kid,” he commanded.
“Not me, Bud, I—I ain’t here for that,” said Spike. “I come t’ tell ye as some dirty guy’s been an’ blown th’ game on me t’ Hermy; she—she knows everything, an’ to-night she—drove me away from her—”
“Did she, Kid, oh, did she?” said M’Ginnis, a new note of eagerness in his voice. “Drove ye out onto th’ streets, Kid? That’s dam’ hard on you!”
“Yes, Bud, I—guess she—don’t want me around—”
“Kind o’ looks that way!” nodded M’Ginnis, and filling Spike’s glass, he put it into the boy’s unwilling fingers. “Take a drink, Kid; ye sure need it!” said he.
“‘S right,” murmured Soapy, “told ye Bud ‘ud comfort ye, didn’t I, Kid?”
“So Hermy’s drove ye away?” said M’Ginnis, “throwed ye out—eh?”
“She sure has, Bud, an’ I—Oh, I’m miserable as hell!”
“Why, then, get some o’ Bud’s comfort into ye, Kid,” murmured Soapy. “Lap it up good, Kid; there’s plenty more—in th’ bottle!”
“Let him alone,” growled M’Ginnis, “he don’t want you buttin’ in!”
“‘S right, too, Bud!” nodded Soapy, “he’s got you, ain’t he? An’ you—got him, ain’t you?”
“I didn’t think Hermy ‘ud ever treat me—like this!” said Spike tearfully.
“You mean—throwin’ ye out into th’ streets, Kid? Why, I been expectin’ it!”
“Expectin’ it?” repeated Spike, setting down his glass and staring, “why?”
“Well, she’s a girl, ain’t she, an’ they’re all th’ same, I reckon—”
“An’ Bud knows all about girls, Kid!” murmured Soapy. “Bud’s wise t’ all their tricks—ain’t you, Bud?”
“But whatcher mean?” cried Spike. “What ye mean about expectin’ it?”
“Well, she don’t want ye no more, does she?” answered M’Ginnis, his bruised hands fierce clenched, his voice hoarse and thick with passion. “She’s got some one else now—ain’t she? She’s—in love—ain’t she? She’s all waked up an’ palpitatin’ for—for that dam’—” he choked, and set one hand to his scratched throat.
“What d’ye mean, Bud?”
“Ah!” said Soapy, softer than before, “I’m on, Bud; you put me wise! He means, Kid, as Hermy’s in love with th’ guy as has just been punchin’ hell out of him—he means your pal Geoff.” With a hoarse, strangling cry, M’Ginnis leapt up, his hand flashed behind him, and—he stood suddenly very still, staring into the muzzle of the weapon Soapy had levelled from his hip.
“Aw, quit it, Bud, quit it,” he sighed, “it ain’t come t’ that—yet. Besides, the Kid’s here, so loose ye gun, Bud. No, give it t’me; you’re a bit on edge t’night, I guess, an’ it might go off an’ break a glass or somethin’. So gimme ye gun, Bud. That’s it! Now we can sit an’ talk real sociable, can’t we? Now listen, Bud—what you want is t’ get your own back on this guy Geoff, an’ what th’ Kid wants is t’ show his sister as he ain’t a kid, an’ what I want is t’ give ye both a helpin’ hand—”
But while M’Ginnis stood scowling at the imperturbable speaker, Spike rose, a little unsteadily, and turned to the door.
“I’ll be gettin’ on me way, Bud,” said he.
“Where to?”
“Home.”
“What! Back t’ Hermy? After she turned ye out?”
“But I—I got t’ go somewheres—”
“Well, you stay right here with me, Kid; I’ll fix ye up all right—”
“‘S right, Kid!” nodded Soapy. “Bud’ll fix ye all right, same as I said; we’ll have in another bottle when that’s empty!”
“What about your sister, Kid?” demanded M’Ginnis fiercely. “What about Hermy an’ this swell guy? Are y’ goin’ t’ sit around an’ do nothin’?”
“But Geoff’s goin’ t’ marry her.”
“Marry her! What, him? A millionaire marry your sister? You think so, an’ she thinks so, but I know different!”
“But Hermy ain’t that sort. Hermy’s—good—”
“Sure, but this guy’s got her fazed—she thinks he’s square all right—she’ll trust him an’ then—s’posin’ he ain’t?”
“I—I ain’t s’posin’ nothin’ like that!” said Spike, gulping his whisky.
“Well, s’posin’ he’s been meetin’ her—in a wood—on the sly—eh? S’posin’ they been huggin’ an’ kissin’—”
“Say now—you cut that out—” stammered Spike, his voice thick. “I tell ye—she ain’t—that kind.”
“S’posin’,” continued Bud, refilling the lad’s glass, “s’posin’ I could show ‘em to ye in a wood—eh? Ah! What she want t’ meet him in a wood for, anyway—nice an’ quiet, eh?”
“Say now, Bud, I—I ain’t goin’ t’ listen t’ no more!” said Spike, rising and clutching at the table, “I—I’m goin’
