The Definite Object Part 44

"Oh, I'm handin' ye the straight goods, Kid," M'Ginnis went on. "I'm puttin' ye wise because you're my pal, an' because I've known Hermy an'

been kind o' soft about her since we was kids."

"Well, then, you know she--she ain't that sort," said Spike, his voice quavering oddly. "So--don't you--say no more--see?"

"All right, Kid, all right--only I don't like t' see this pal o' yours gettin' in his dirty work behind your back. If anything happens--don't blame me--"

"What--what you tryin' t' tell me--you Bud?" questioned Spike, between quivering lips.

"I'm tellin' ye things are gettin' too warm--oh, Hermy ain't the icicle she tries t' make out she is."

"An' I'm tellin' you--you're a liar, Bud M'Ginnis--a dirty liar!" cried the boy.

M'Ginnis's bull neck swelled; between his thick, black brows a vein swelled and pulsed. Viewing this, Soapy's glittering eyes blinked, and the pendulous cigarette quivered faintly again.

"Now by--" began M'Ginnis, lifting menacing fist; then his arm sank, and he shook his big, handsome head. "Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed, "I guess you're all worked up, Kid, so I ain't takin' no notice. But savvy this, Kid, if Hermy ain't goin' t' marry me on th' level, she ain't goin' t'

let this guy have her--the other way--not much! I guess you ain't forgotten little Maggie Finlay? Well, watch out your pal Geoff don't make Hermy go th' same."

Uttering a wild, inarticulate cry, the lad sprang--to be caught in M'Ginnis's powerful grasp, but, even so, his fist grazed M'Ginnis's full-lipped mouth. For a moment Spike strove desperately to reach Bud's grim-smiling face until, finding his efforts vain, he ceased all at once, bowed his head upon his arms, and burst into a pa.s.sion of bitter sobbing; then, with an agile twist, he wrenched himself free, and turning, sped away, heedless of his jaunty straw hat that had fallen and lay upon the dusty sidewalk. Languidly Soapy stooped and picked it up.

"His noo lid!" said he. "Only bought t'day, I reckon!"

"Gee!" exclaimed M'Ginnis, staring after Spike's fleeing figure, already far away, "he sure was some peevis.h.!.+"

"Some!" nodded Soapy. "If he'd happened t' have a gun handy, here's where you'd have cashed in for good, I reckon. Yes, Bud, you'd be deader 'n' mutton!" sighed Soapy, turning Spike's hat around upon his finger.

"You'd be as dead as--little Maggie Finlay you was mentionin'!"

M'Ginnis wheeled so suddenly upon the speaker that he took a long step backward, but he still spun Spike's hat upon his finger, and the pendulous cigarette quivered quite noticeably. "Aw, quit it, Bud, quit it!" he sighed. "You know I ain't th' kind o' guy it's healthy to punch around promiscuous."

"You mean if he'd missed, there was you, eh?"

"Well, I dunno, Bud, if it had been my sister--maybe--"

"Oh, I know the sort o' dirty tyke you are, Soapy--but I'm awake--an'

I've got you, see? If anything was t' happen t' me, I've left papers--proofs--'n' it 'ud be the chair for yours--savvy?"

"Anyway, Bud, I--I haven't got a sister," said Soapy, juggling deftly with the hat. "But there's one thing, Bud, th' guy who gets actin' Mr.

Freshy with Hermy is sure goin' to ante-up in kingdom come, if th' Kid's around."

"You're a dirty dog, Soapy, but you've got brains in your ugly dome, I guess you're right about th' Kid, an' that gives me an almighty good idea!" And M'Ginnis walked on awhile, deep in thought; and ever as he went, so between those pale and puffy lids two malevolent eyes watched and watched him.

"No," sighed Soapy at last, sliding a long, pale hand into the pocket of his smartly-tailored coat, "no, I ain't got a sister, Bud, but there was little Maggie Finlay. I kind o' used t' think she was all t' th' harps an' haloes. I used t' kind o' hope--but pshaw! she's dead--ain't she, Bud?"

"I guess so!" nodded M'Ginnis, yet deep in thought.

"An' buried--ain't she, Bud?"

"What th' h.e.l.l!" exclaimed Bud, turning to stare, "what's bitin' ye?"

"I'm wonderin' 'why', an' I'm likewise wonderin' 'who', Bud. Maybe I'll find out for sure some day. I'm--waitin', Bud, waitin'. Goin' around t'

O'Rourke's, are ye? Oh, well, I guess I'll hike along wid ye, Bud."

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH THE POISON BEGINS TO WORK

Spike sat glowering at the newspaper, yet very conscious, none the less, that Hermione often turned to glance at him wistfully as she bustled to and fro; at last she spoke.

"Arthur, dear--why so gloomy?"

"I ain't--I mean, I'm not."

"You're not sulking about anything?"

"No."

"Then you're sick."

"I'm all right."

"But you didn't enjoy your dinner a little bit."

"I--I wasn't hungry, I guess," said Spike, frowning down at the paper.

But Hermione was beside him, her cool fingers caressing his curls.

"Boy, dear--what is it?"

"Say, Hermy, where'd you get them roses?" and he nodded to the flowers she had set among her s.h.i.+ning hair.

"Oh, Mr. Geoffrey brought them."

"Been here, has he?"

"Yes, he came in with Ann this morning--why?"

"Did he--did he stay long?"

"N-o, I don't think so--why?"

"Comes round here pretty often, don't he?"

"Why, you see, he's your friend, dear, and we are very near neighbours."

"Oh, I know all that, but--folks are beginning to--talk."

Hermione's smooth brows were wrinkled faintly and her caressing hand had fallen away.