now me don't need to be told
anything about me, and those that don't know me are just as well off.
I'm in business for myself, and always have been. The world owes me a
living, and it's been paying it pretty regular ever since I was sixteen
years old, and I'm now coming sixty-two. I'm like the others here in one
respect: I've got a grudge against the man we've been talking about.
I've never been able to make him feel it, because I've always fought
mighty shy of him rather than get within his reach; but when I heard
that this here movement had been started going by you, Madge, and the
word was passed around among the guns downtown that you wanted a few of
us that hated Nick Carter to come to the captain's office and form a
little organization, it struck me that it was just about the right thing
to do. I've heard what Surly Bob had to say, and I know that Surly isn't
the sort of chap that's in the habit of talking through his hat. If
Surly Bob had it in for me I'd patronize the New York Central Railroad,
and take a train out of town right away.

"I've heard what Gentleman Jim had to say, and if Jim was looking for my
gore to-night, I'd take a steamer across the ocean or commit suicide,
because I'd know I couldn't get away from him in any other way.

"I've heard what Slippery Al had to say, and while Slippery ain't of
much account, he's about the nastiest toad that ever picked a pocket,
and I wouldn't care to have him down on me.

"And as for Scar-faced Johnny, well, Johnny is a bad one, too. I ain't
making any threats particularly, Madge, but I'm willing to join this
organization, or I wouldn't be here, and I want to say now that when
you're fixing up the business, and arrange for the signals so that we
can summons each other when we want them, I'll do my part to the tune of
compound interest; and I guess that'll be about all from me."

The sixth man of the party, who was the next to get upon his feet, had
the stamp of prison life all over him. His face bespoke the pallor which
is acquired in no other place in the world, and the vicious, shifty,
sneaking gleam in his eyes spoke well of the craftiness which is the
result of long confinement under the domination of brutal guards and
turnkeys.

So recently had he escaped from prison, apparently, that his hair was
still cropped short to his skull, and one almost expected when looking
at him to see the stripes of prison garb upon him.

"I am Joe Cuthbert," he said slowly