"Tony's only a guinney," Spike explained as they walked on again. "But
he's white, Geoff--'n' say, he's a holy terror in a mix-up! Totes one o'
them stiletto knives. I've seen him stab down into a glass full of water
an' never spill a drop, which sure wants some doing."
Evening was falling, and dismal Tenth Avenue was wrapping itself in
shadow, a shadow made more manifest by small lights that burned dismally
in small and dingy shops, a shadow, this, wherein moving shadows jostled
with lounging shoulder or elbow. As they passed a certain dark entry
where divers of these vague shadows lounged, a long arm was stretched
thence, and a large hand gripped Spike's shoulder.
"Why--hello, Spider," said he, halting. "What's doin'?"
"Nawthin' much, Kid--only little M--'say, who's wid you?"
"Oh, this is a friend o' mine--Geoff, dis is d' Spider!" explained
Spike.
Visualised in "the Spider" Ravenslee saw a tall, slender youth, very
wide in the shoulder and prodigiously long of arm and leg, and who
looked at him keen-eyed from beneath a wide cap brim, while his square
jaws worked with untiring industry upon a wad of chewing gum.
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