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Farnol, Jeffery, 1878-1952

"The Definite Object A Romance of New York"


"Good evening!" said Ravenslee and held out his hand. The Spider ceased
chewing for a moment, nodded, and turning to Spike, chewed fiercer than
ever.
"Where youse goin', Kid?" he enquired, masticating the while.
"What was you goin' to tell me, Spider?" demanded Spike, a note of
sudden anxiety in his voice.
"Nawthin', Kid."
"Aw--come off, Spider! What was it?"
The Spider glanced up at the gloomy sky, glanced down at the dingy
pavement, and finally beckoned Spike aside with a quick back-jerk of the
head, and, stooping close, whispered something in his ear--something
that caused the boy to start away with clenched hands and face of
horror, something that seemed to trouble him beyond speech, for he stood
a moment dumb and staring, then found utterance in a sudden, hoarse cry:
"No--no! It ain't true--oh, my God!"
And with the cry, Spike turned sharp about and, springing to a run,
vanished into the shadows.
"What's the matter?" demanded Ravenslee, turning on the Spider.
"Matter?" repeated that youth, staring at him under his cap brim again;
"well, say--I guess you'd better ask d' Kid.


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