Good Books

"What's doin'!" demanded a voice. "Who is it?" The voice was hoarse and
authoritative, but the gruff tones were schooled, it seemed, to an
almost unnatural softness.
"'S all right, Micky," answered the Spider in the same subdued tone,
"it's only me come for d' Kid."
"Who you got wid you there, Spider?"
"A pal o' mine an' d' Kid's--he's all right, Mick!" Then to Ravenslee:
"Come on, bo!" Slowly they approached the shack, but, reaching the door,
the Spider hesitated a long moment ere, lifting the latch, he led the
way in.
A fairly large room was lighted by a lamp that stood upon a rickety
table before which sat a young-faced, white-haired man, very
industriously writing in a small account book; upon the table before
him were a number of articles very neatly arranged, among which
Ravenslee noticed a cheap wrist-watch, a hair-comb, a brooch, and a
small chain purse. He was yet gazing at these and at the white-haired
man, who, having nodded once to the Spider, continued to write so
busily, when he was startled to hear a long-drawn, shuddering sigh.


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