Good Books

"What you doin' here? Who are ye?"
Mr. Ravenslee sat down and began to fill his pipe.
"Where's d' Kid?"
Mr. Ravenslee brushed stray grains of tobacco from his knee with
elaborate care.
"Hey, you! Where's Spike--'n' what you doin' here, anyway?"
Mr. Ravenslee glanced up casually. "And pray, who the devil may you be
pleased to be?" he enquired.
"Me name's M'Ginnis!"
"Oh, indeed?"
"Yes--indeed! Bud M'Ginnis--Is that good 'nuff for ye?"
"Well, since you ask," said Ravenslee, shaking languid head, "I should
scarcely class you as a 'bud' myself. No--I should say you were perhaps
just a trifle--er--overblown. But have it your own way!" and Mr.
Ravenslee smiled engagingly.
"Where's Spike?" demanded M'Ginnis, his tone a little gruffer, "and
say--you can cut out the comedy, see? Nix on the funny business."
"You are a pessimist, I presume, Mr. Flowers?"
"Where's d' Kid? Speak up now--where is he?"
"Also, your conversation grows a little monotonous, Mr. Flowers."
M'Ginnis stared, then shot out his big chin viciously.


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