"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.
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