"Greetings, Abe! I'll take one o' them hair-combs."
"Hair-gombs?" nodded the merchant. "Vot kind?"
"What kind? Why, the best you got."
"Ve got 'em up to veefty dollars--"
"Come off it, Cain, come off--I ain't purchasin' a diamond aigrette
to-day, it's a lady's hair-comb I want--good, but not too
flossy-lookin'--savvy that? This'll do, I guess--how much? Right there!"
said Spike, flicking a bill upon the counter. "That's it, stick it in a
box--oh, never mind th' wrappin's. S'long, Daniel!"
With his purchase in his pocket, Spike strode out of the shop,
whistling cheerily, but the merry notes ended very suddenly as he dodged
back again, yet not quite quick enough, for a rough voice hailed him,
hoarse and jovial.
"Why, hello, Kid, how goes it?" M'Ginnis's heavy hand descended on his
shrinking shoulder and next moment he was out on the sidewalk where
Soapy lounged, a smouldering cigarette pendent from his thin, pallid
lips as usual. And Soapy's eyes, so bright between their narrowed, puffy
lids, so old-seeming in the youthful oval of his pale face, were like
his cigarette, in that they smouldered also.
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