“Sit down, bo,” invited Soup Face. “I guess you're a regular all right. Here, have a snifter?” and he pulled a flask from his side pocket, holding it toward The Oskaloosa Kid. “Thank you, but;--er--I'm on the wagon, you know,” declined the youth. “Have a smoke?” suggested Columbus Blackie. “Here's the makin's.” The change in the attitude of the men toward him pleased The Oskaloosa Kid immensely. They were treating him as one of them, and after the lonely walk through the dark and desolate farm lands human companionship of any kind was to him as the proverbial straw to the man who rocked the boat once too often. Dopey Charlie and The General, alone of all the company, waxed not enthusiastic over the advent of The Oskaloosa Kid and his priceless loot. These two sat scowling and whispering in the back-ground. “Dat's a wrong guy,” muttered the former to the latter. “He's a stool pigeon or one of dese amatoor mugs.” “It's the pullin' of that punk graft that got my goat,” replied The General. “I never seen a punk yet that didn't try to make you think he was a wise guy an' dis stiff don't belong enough even to pull a spiel that would fool a old ladies' sewin' circle. I don't see wot The Sky Pilot's cozyin' up to him fer.” “You don't?” scoffed Dopey Charlie. “Didn't you lamp de oyster harness? To say nothin' of de mitful of rocks and kale.” “That 'ud be all right, too,” replied the other, “if we could put the guy to sleep; but The Sky Pilot won't never stand for croakin' nobody. He's too scared of his neck. We'll look like a bunch o' wise ones, won't we? lettin' a stranger sit in now--after last night. Hell!” he suddenly exploded. “Don't you know that you an' me stand to swing if any of de bunch gets gabby in front of dis phoney punk?” The two sat silent for a while, The General puffing on a short briar, Dopey Charlie inhaling deep draughts from a cigarette, and both glaring through narrowed lids at the boy warming himself beside the fire where the others were attempting to draw him out the while they strove desperately but unavailingly to keep their eyes from the two bulging sidepockets of their guest's coat. Soup Face, who had been assiduously communing with a pint flask, leaned close to Columbus Blackie, placing his whiskers within an inch or so of the other's nose as was his habit when addressing another, and whispered, relative to the pearl necklace: “Not a cent less 'n fifty thou, bo!” “Fertheluvomike!” ejaculated Blackie, drawing back and wiping a palm quickly across his lips. “Get a plumber first if you want to kiss me--you leak.” “He thinks you need a shower bath,” said Dirty Eddie, laughing. “The trouble with Soup Face,” explained The Sky Pilot, “is that he's got a idea he's a human atomizer an' that the rest of us has colds.”