“Holy smoke!” exclaimed M’Ginnis, surveying Spike up and down in mock amazement, “this ain’t you, Kid—­no, this sure ain’t you.  Looks all t’ th’ company-promoter, don’t he, Soapy?”

“‘S’ right, Kid, ‘s’ right!” nodded the pallid youth, his smouldering eyes always turning toward M’Ginnis.

“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—­”