Spike gulped audibly and, thereafter, sniffed.

“Now suppose,” said Mr. Ravenslee, “let us suppose she found out that the brother she loved so much was a—­thief?”

Hereupon Spike unrolled his cap and proceeded to rub his eyes with it, and, when at last he spoke, it was in a voice broken by great sobs.

“Say—­cut it out—­cut it out!  I never meant to—­to do it.  They got me soused—­doped me, I think, else I’d never have done it.  I ain’t good, but I ain’t so rotten bad as—­what I seem.  I ain’t no real crook, but if you wanter croak me for what I done—­go ahead!  Only don’t—­don’t let d’ cops get me, ‘cause o’ Hermy.  If you croak me, she’ll think I got it in a scrap, maybe; so if you wanter plug me, go ahead!”

“But what are you shivering for?”

“I—­I’m just waitin’, sir,” answered Spike, closing his eyes, “I—­I seen a guy shot once!”

Mr. Ravenslee sighed and nodded.

“After all,” said he, “I don’t think I’ll croak you,” and he slipped the revolver into his pocket while Spike watched him in sudden tense eagerness.

“What yer mean to do wi’ me?” he asked.

“That’s the question; what shall I do with you?  Let me think.”

“Say,” cried the boy eagerly, “you don’t have to do no thinkin’—­leave it all to me!  It’s de winder for mine; I’ll chase meself quick—­”

“No you don’t!  Sit down—­sit down, I say!”

Spike sighed and seated himself on the extreme edge of the chair his captor indicated.

“Won’t yer lemme beat it, sir?” he pleaded.

“No, some one else might catch you next time and have the pleasure of—­er—­croaking you or handing you over to the police—­”

“There won’t be no next time, sir!” cried Spike eagerly.  “I’ll never do it no more—­I’ll cut d’ whole gang, I’ll give Bud M’Ginnis d’ throw-down—­on d’ dead level I will, if you’ll only let me—­”

“Who’s Bud M’Ginnis?”

“Say,” exclaimed the boy, staring, “don’t yer know that?  Why, Bud’s d’ main squeeze with d’ gang, d’ whole cheese, he is—­an’ he kind o’ thinks I’m d’ candy-kid ’cause he’s stuck on me sister—­“.

“Ah!” nodded Mr. Ravenslee, frowning a little, “and is she—­er—­stuck on him?”

“Not so as you could notice it, she ain’t!  No, she can’t see Bud with a pair of opry-glasses, an’ he’s a dead game sport, too!  Oh, there ain’t no flies on Bud, an’ nobody can lick him, either; but Hermy don’t cotton none, she hasn’t got no use for him, see?  But say—­” Spike rose tentatively and looked on his captor with eyes big and supplicating.

“Well, what now?”

“Why, I thought if you was tired of me chewing d’ rag and wanted to hit the feathers, I’d just cop a sneak.  See, if you’ll only lemme go, I’ll do d’ square thing and get a steady job like Hermy wants me to—­honest, I will, sir!  Y’ see, me sister’s away to-night—­she does needleworks for swell folks an’ stops with ’em sometimes—­so if you’ll only let me beat it, I can skin back an’ she’ll never know!  Ah!—­lemme go, sir!”