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, 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 shining 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. "To talk!" she repeated, "you mean about--me?"