The Definite Object Part 67

"Got anythin' else?"

"Oh, yes, a few things."

"Tell us jest one."

"Well, a yacht."

"Oh, a yacht?"

"A yacht."

"'S 'nuff, bo, 's 'nuff! But go on--go on, get it all off if you'll feel better after. Anythin' more?"

"Why, yes, about twenty or thirty houses and castles and palaces and things--"

"That settles it sure!" sighed the Spider. "You're comin' t' see a doctor, that's what! Your dome's sure got bent in with a boot or somethin'."

"No, Spider, I just happen to be born the son of a millionaire, that's all."

"Think o' that, now!" nodded the Spider, "a millionaire now--how nice!

An' what do they call ye at home?"

"Geoffrey Ravenslee."

"How much?" exclaimed the Spider, falling back a step. "The guy as went ten rounds with d.i.c.k Dunoon at th' 'National?' The guy as won th'

Auter-mobile Race? Th' guy as bought up Mulligan's--you?"

"Why, yes. By the way, I sat in the front row and watched you lick Larry McKinnon at 'Frisco; I was afraid you were going to recognise me, once or twice."

"Then, you--you _have_ got a yacht, th' big one as lays off Twenty-third Street?"

"Also seven cars; that's why I want you for a chauffeur."

"Ho-ly Gee!" murmured the dazed Spider. "Well, say, you sure have got me goin'! A millionaire! A peanut cart! A yacht! Well, say, I--I guess it's time I got on me way. S' long!"

"No you don't, my Spider; you're coming home with me."

"What--me? Not much I ain't--no, sir! I ain't no giddy gink t' go dinin'

with millionaires in open-faced clo'es--not me!"

"But you're coming to have dinner with that same peanut man who learned to respect you because you were a real, white man, Spider Connolly. And that's another reason why I want you for my chauffeur."

"But--say, I--I can't shuv."

"Joe shall teach you."

"Joe? Y' mean--Joe Madden?"

"He'll be chauffeur number one--and there's a cross-town car! Come on, Spider! Now--in with you!"

CHAPTER x.x.xI

IN WHICH SOAPY TAKES A HAND

O'Rourke's was full: its long bar, shaped something like the letter J, supported many lounging arms and elbows; its burnished foot-rail was sc.r.a.ped by boots of many shapes and sizes; its heavy air, thick with cigarette smoke, hummed with many voices. In one corner, a remote corner where few ventured to penetrate, Soapy leaned, as pallid and noncommittal as ever, while Spike poured out to him the story of his woes.

"She drove me out, Soapy! She drove me away from her!" he repeated for the hundredth time. The boy was unnaturally flushed and bright of eye, and his voice was as shaky as the hand which fidgeted with his whisky gla.s.s; and the sense of his wrongs was great and growing greater with every sip.

"She told me t' leave her! She drove me away from her--"

"So you come here, eh, Kid?" drawled Soapy, pendent cigarette smouldering. "You skinned over here t' Bud f' comfort, an' you'll sure get it, Kid--in a gla.s.s!"

"Bud's always good t' me--"

"'S right, Kid, 's right, Bud's an angel sure, though he ain't got no wings yet. Oh, Bud'll comfort ye--frequent, an' by an' by he'll take ye back t' Hermy good an' soused; you can get your own back that ways--eh, Kid? It'll sure make her sit up an' take notice when she sees ye come in reelin' an' staggerin'--eh, Kid? An' to-morrow you'll be sick mebbe, an'

she'll have ter nurse ye--oh, Bud'll fix things fer ye, I guess." Spike glowered and pushed his half-emptied gla.s.s further away.

"I ain't goin' home soused!" he muttered.

"No?" said Soapy, faintly surprised. "Bud'll feel kind o' hurt, won't he?"

"I ain't goin' home soused--not for Bud nor n.o.body else!"

"Why, then, if I was you, Kid, I should beat it before Bud comes in."

"I guess I will," said Spike, rising.

But now was sudden uproar of voices in the street hard by, a running and trampling of feet, and, the swing doors opening, a group of men appeared, bearing among them a heavy burden; and coming to the quiet corner they laid M'Ginnis there. Battered, b.l.o.o.d.y, and torn he lay, his handsome features swollen and disfigured, his clothes dusty and dishevelled, while above him and around him men stooped and peered and whispered.

"Why, it's--it's--Bud!" stammered Spike, shrinking away from that inanimate form, "my G.o.d! It's--Bud!"

"'S right, Kid!" nodded Soapy imperturbably, hands in pockets and, though his voice sounded listless as ever, his eyes gleamed evilly, and the dangling cigarette quivered and stirred.

"Ain't--dead, is he?" some one questioned.

"Dead--not much!" answered Soapy, "guess it's goin' to take more 'n that t' make Bud a stiff 'un. Besides, Bud ain't goin' t' die that way, no, not--that way, I reckon. Dead? Watch this!" So saying, he reached Spike's half-emptied gla.s.s from the bar and, not troubling to stoop, poured the raw spirit down upon M'Ginnis's pale, blood-smirched face.

"Dead?" said Soapy. "Well, I guess not--look at him!"

And, sure enough, M'Ginnis stirred, groaned, opened swollen eyelids and, aided by some ready arm, sat up feebly. Then he glanced up at the ring of peering faces and down upon his rent and dusty person, and fell to a sudden, fierce torrent of curses; cursing thus, his strength seemed to return all at once, for he sprang to his feet and with clenched fists drove through the crowd, and lifting a flap in the bar, opened a door beyond and was gone.

"No," said Soapy, shaking his head, "I guess Bud ain't dead--yet, fellers. I wonder who gave him that eye, Kid? An' his mouth too! Did ye pipe them split lips! Kind o' painful, I guess. An' a couple o' teeth knocked out too! Some punchin', Kid! An' Bud kind o' fancied them nice, white teeth of his a whole heap!"

Here the bartender glanced toward the corner where they stood, and, lifting an eyebrow, jerked his thumb at the door behind him with the words: "Kid, I reckon Bud wants ye."