“Oh, say—­give it a rest!” cried Spike desperately.  “Give it a rest, can’t ye?”

“Why, then, Kid, what about comin’ over t’ O’Rourke’s t’night?”

Spike wrung his hands.  “If Hermy finds out, she’ll—­cry, I guess—­”

“Hermy!” growled M’Ginnis, black brows fierce and scowling, “a hell of a lot you care for Hermy, I—­don’t think!”

“Say now, you Bud, whatcher mean?” demanded Spike, quivering with sudden anger.

“Just this, Kid—­what kind of a brother are ye t’ go lettin’ that noo pal o’ yours—­that guy you call Geoff—­go sneaking round her morning, noon, an’ night?”

“You cut that out, Bud M’Ginnis.  Geoff don’t!  Geoff ain’t that kind.”

“He don’t, eh?  Well, what about all this talk that’s goin’ on—­about him an’ her, an’ her an’ him—­eh?”

“What talk?” demanded Spike, suddenly troubled.

“Why, every one’s beginnin’ t’ notice as they’re always meetin’ on th’ stairs—­an’ him goin’ into her flat, an’ them talkin’ an’ laughin’ together when you’re out o’ th’ way—­ah,” growled M’Ginnis, between grinding white teeth, “an’ likely as not kissin’ an’ squeezin’ in corners—­”

“That’s enough—­that’s enough!” cried the boy, fronting M’Ginnis, fierce-eyed.  “Nobody ain’t goin’ t’ speak about Hermy that way.”

“Y’ can’t help it, Kid.  Here’s this guy Geoff, this pal o’ yours—­been with her—­in her flat with her, all th’ mornin’—­ain’t he, Soapy?”

“‘S’ right, Kid!” nodded that pallid individual, the smouldering cigarette a-swing between pale lips; and, though he addressed Spike, his furtive eyes, watching aslant between narrowed lids, glittered to behold M’Ginnis’s scowling brow; also the wolverine mouth curled faintly, so that the pendulous cigarette stirred and quivered.

“Oh, I’m handin’ ye the straight goods, Kid,” M’Ginnis went on.  “I’m puttin’ ye wise because you’re my pal, an’ because I’ve known Hermy an’ been kind o’ soft about her since we was kids.”

“Well, then, you know she—­she ain’t that sort,” said Spike, his voice quavering oddly.  “So—­don’t you—­say no more—­see?”

“All right, Kid, all right—­only I don’t like t’ see this pal o’ yours gettin’ in his dirty work behind your back.  If anything happens—­don’t blame me—­”

“What—­what you tryin’ t’ tell me—­you Bud?” questioned Spike, between quivering lips.

“I’m tellin’ ye things are gettin’ too warm—­oh, Hermy ain’t the icicle she tries t’ make out she is.”

“An’ I’m tellin’ you—­you’re a liar, Bud M’Ginnis—­a dirty liar!” cried the boy.

M’Ginnis’s bull neck swelled; between his thick, black brows a vein swelled and pulsed.  Viewing this, Soapy’s glittering eyes blinked, and the pendulous cigarette quivered faintly again.

“Now by—­” began M’Ginnis, lifting menacing fist; then his arm sank, and he shook his big, handsome head.  “Oh, pshaw!” he exclaimed, “I guess you’re all worked up, Kid, so I ain’t takin’ no notice.  But savvy this, Kid, if Hermy ain’t goin’ t’ marry me on th’ level, she ain’t goin’ t’ let this guy have her—­the other way—­not much!  I guess you ain’t forgotten little Maggie Finlay?  Well, watch out your pal Geoff don’t make Hermy go th’ same.”