It was a long, narrow corridor, bare and
uncarpeted, seeming to run the length of the building; on one hand was
a row of dingy windows and on the other were several doors, from behind
which came the sound of many voices that talked and sang and swore
together, a very babel.
At the end of this passage was yet another door which gave upon a small
room that contained a rickety sofa, a chair, and a battered desk; a
kerosene lamp suspended against the wall burned dimly, and it was into
this chamber that the Spider ushered Ravenslee somewhat hastily; the
Spider's eyes were very bright, and he chewed rather more fiercely than
usual.
"Bo," said he, "this place ain't exactly a bed o' roses for a strange
guy like you. Y' see, this is Bud's own stampin'-ground, an' the whole
bunch is here t'night, and most of 'em are heeled. Soapy an' Bud always
tote guns, I know. So I guess you'd better mark time here a bit while I
chase around an' locate th' Kid. If any one asks what you're doin'
around here, say as you come in with me. But, bo"--and here the Spider
laid an impressive hand on Ravenslee's arm--"if you should happen t' see
Bud, well, don't stop to look twice but beat it--let it be th' door or
winder for yours--only--beat it!"
"Oh, why?"
"Well, I know Bud's got it in fer you; I heard him say--oh, well, if
his gun should go off--accidental-like, this place ain't exactly
Broadway or Fifth Av'noo, bo--see?"
"I see!" nodded Ravenslee.
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