d upon his arms, and burst into a passion 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 peevish!"

"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' hell!" 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, w