"Bo," said the Spider as they went on again, "there's times when my
likin' f'r you gets a pain; there's times when y'r talk gives me th'
earache, an' y'r lovin' looks the willies. I ain't lookin' f'r no
gratitood, nor yet a gold dinner-set an' loominated address, but, not
ownin' a hide like a sole-leather Saratoga, I'll jest get on me way--S'
long!"
"Where are you going?"
"I dunno, but--I'm goin' there, right now."
But as the Spider turned away, his hand was caught and gripped, and
Ravenslee was smiling; his features looked a bit battered, but his smile
was pleasant as ever.
"Forgive my cursed temper, Spider. I owe you my life again and--I ought
to be grateful, I suppose. Forgive me, I'm--not quite myself to-night."
"Sure thing!" said the Spider, returning his grasp, "but, bo, I'm kind
o' wonderin' in me little mind what Bud's feelin' like! You sure swatted
him good an' heavy. I never seen cleaner footwork, an' them left jabs o'
yours--"
"The question is, how do you feel, Spider, and what are you going to
do?"
The pugilist scratched his rough chin.
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