"Guess I'll come along, Kid," and, hands in pockets, Soapy followed. They found M'Ginnis sprawling at a table and scowling at the knuckles of his bruised right hand while at his elbow were a bottle and two glasses. He had washed the blood and dirt from him, had brushed and straightened his dusty garments, but he couldn't hide the cuts and bruises that disfigured his face, nor his scratched and swollen throat. "What you here for?" he demanded, as Soapy closed the door, "didn't send for you, did I?" "No, that's why I come, Bud." "But, say, Bud, what--what's been th' matter?" stammered Spike, his gaze upon M'Ginnis's battered face, "who's been--" "Matter? Nothin'! I had a bit of a rough-house as I come along--" "'S right," nodded Soapy, "you sure look it! Never seen a fatter eye--" "Well, what you got t' beef about?" "Nothin', Bud, only--" "Only what?" "It's kind o' tough you losin' them couple o' teeth--or is it three?" M'Ginnis turned on him with a snarl. "A-r-r-, you--! Some day I'm goin' t' kick the insides out o' ye!" "Some day, Bud, sure. I'll be waitin'! Meantime why not get some doctor-guy t' put ye face back in shape--gee, I hate t' see ye--you look like a butcher's shop! An' them split lips pains some, I guess!" Here, while M'Ginnis choked in impotent rage, Soapy lit a fresh cigarette from the butt of the last and held out the packet. "Try a coffin-nail, Bud? No? Well, I guess y' couldn't smoke good with a mouth on ye like that." "Who did it, Bud?" questioned Spike eagerly. "Who was it?" "Hush up, Kid, hush up!" said Soapy, viewing M'Ginnis's cuts and bruises with glistening eyes. "I guess that guy's layin' around somewheres waitin' f'r th' coroner--Bud wouldn't let him make such a holy mess of his face an' get away with it--not much! Bud's a killer, I know that--don't I, Bud?" "You close up that dog's head o' yours, Soapy, or by--" "'S all right, Bud, 's all right. Don't get peeved; I'll close up tighter 'n a clam, only--it's kinder tough about them teeth--" "Are ye goin' t' cut it out or shall--" "Aw, calm down, Bud, calm down! Take a drink; it'll do ye good." And filling a glass with rye whisky, Soapy set it before M'Ginnis, who cursed him, took it up, and turned to Spike. "Fill it up, Kid," he commanded. "Not me, Bud, I--I ain't here for that," said Spike. "I come t' tell ye as some dirty guy's been an' blown th' game on me t' Hermy; she--she knows everything, an' to-night she--drove me away from her--" "Did she, Kid, oh, did she?" said M'Ginnis, a new note of eagerness in his voice. "Drove ye out onto th' streets, Kid? That's dam' hard on you!" "Yes, Bud, I--guess she--don't want me around--" "Kind o' looks that way!" nodded M'Ginnis, and filling Spike's glass, he put it into the boy's unwilling fingers. "Take a drink, Kid; ye sure need it!" said he. "'S right," murmured Soapy, "told ye Bud 'ud comfort ye, didn't I, Kid?" "So Hermy's drove ye away?" said M'Ginnis, "throwed ye out--eh?"