'I'd quite forgotten I hadn't told you about myself, Spike. I've
retired.'
The horrid truth sank slowly into the other's mind.
'Say! What's dat, boss? You're cuttin' it out?'
'That's it. Absolutely.'
'Ain't youse swiping no more jools?'
'Not me.'
'Nor usin' de what's-its-name blow-pipe?'
'I have sold my oxy-acetylene blow-pipe, given away my anaesthetics,
and am going to turn over a new leaf, and settle down as a
respectable citizen.'
Spike gasped. His world had fallen about his ears. His excursion
with. Jimmy, the master cracksman, in New York had been the highest
and proudest memory of his life; and, now that they had met again in
London, he had looked forward to a long and prosperous partnership
in crime. He was content that his own share in the partnership
should be humble. It was enough for him to be connected, however
humbly, with such a master. He had looked upon the richness of
London, and he had said with Blucher, 'What a city to loot!'
And here was his idol shattering the visions with a word.
'Have another drink, Spike,' said the lost leader sympathetically.
'It's a shock to you, I guess.'
'I t'ought, boss--'
'I know, I know. These are life's tragedies. I'm very sorry for you.
But it can't be helped. I've made my pile, so why continue?'
Spike sat silent, with a long face. Jimmy slapped him on the
shoulder.
'Cheer up,' he said. 'How do you know that living honestly may not
be splendid fun? Numbers of people do it, you know, and enjoy
themselves tremendously. You must give it a trial, Spike.'
'Me, boss! What, me, too?'
'Sure. You're my link with--I don't want to have you remembering
that address in the second month of a ten-year stretch at Dartmoor
Prison. I'm going to look after you, Spike, my son, like a lynx.
We'll go out together, and see life. Brace up, Spike. Be cheerful.
Grin!'
After a moment's reflection, the other grinned, albeit faintly.
'That's right,' said Jimmy. 'We'll go into society, Spike, hand in
hand. You'll be a terrific success in society. All you have to do is
to look cheerful, brush your hair, and keep your hands off the
spoons. For in the best circles they invariably count them after the
departure of the last guest.'
'Sure,' said Spike, as one who thoroughly understood this sensible
precaution.
'And, now,' said Jimmy, 'we'll be turning in. Can you manage
sleeping on the sofa one night? Some fellows would give their bed up
to you. Not me, however. I'll have a bed made up for you tomorrow.'
'Me!' said Spike. 'Gee! I've been sleepin' in de Park all de last
week. Dis is to de good, boss.'
CHAPTER XI
