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"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.


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