wish it were mutual--but nothing he can say is going to make me stir
from here.'
'Not on your life,' agreed Spike. 'Say, boss, he must have got a lot
of plunks to be able to butt in here. An' I know how he got dem,
too. Dat's right. I comes from little old New York, meself.'
'Hush, Spike, this is scandal!'
'Sure,' said the Bowery boy doggedly, safely started now on his
favorite subject. 'I knows, an' youse knows, boss. Gee! I wish I'd
bin a cop. But I wasn't tall enough. Dey's de fellers wit' de big
bank-rolls. Look at dis old McEachern. Money to boin a wet dog wit'
he's got, an' never a bit of woik fer it from de start to de finish.
An' look at me, boss.'
'I do, Spike, I do.'
'Look at me. Gittin' busy all de year round, woikin' to beat de
band--'
'In prisons oft,' said Jimmy.
'Sure t'ing. An' chased all roun' de town. An' den what? Why, to de
bad at de end of it all. Say, it's enough to make a feller--'
'Turn honest,' said Jimmy. 'That's it, Spike. Reform. You'll be glad
some day.'
Spike seemed to be doubtful. He was silent for a moment, then, as if
following up a train of thought, he said:
'Boss, dis is a fine big house.'
'I've seen worse.'
'Say, couldn't we--?'
'Spike!' said Jimmy, warningly.
'Well, couldn't we?' said Spike, doggedly. 'It ain't often youse
butts into a dead-easy proposition like dis one. We shouldn't have
to do a t'ing excep' git busy. De stuff's just lyin' about, boss.'
'I shouldn't wonder.'
'Aw, it's a waste to leave it.'
'Spike,' said Jimmy, 'I warned you of this. I begged you to be on
your guard, to fight against your professional instincts. Be a man!
Crush them. Try and occupy your mind. Collect butterflies.'
Spike shuffled in gloomy silence.
''Member dose jools youse swiped from de duchess?' he said,
musingly.
'The dear duchess!' murmured Jimmy. 'Ah, me!'
'An' de bank youse busted?'
'Those were happy days, Spike.'
'Gee!' said the Bowery boy. And then, after a pause: 'Dat was to de
good,' he said, wistfully.
Jimmy arranged his tie at the mirror.
'Dere's a loidy here,' continued Spike, addressing the chest of
drawers, 'dat's got a necklace of jools what's wort' a hundred
t'ousand plunks. Honest, boss. A hundred t'ousand plunks. Saunders
told me dat--de old gazebo dat hands out de long woids. I says to
him, 'Gee!' an' he says, 'Surest t'ing youse know.' A hundred
t'ousand plunks!'
