"You skinned over here t' Bud f' comfort, an' you'll sure
get it, Kid--in a glass!"
"Bud's always good t' me--"
"'S right, Kid, 's right, Bud's an angel sure, though he ain't got no
wings yet. Oh, Bud'll comfort ye--frequent, an' by an' by he'll take ye
back t' Hermy good an' soused; you can get your own back that ways--eh,
Kid? It'll sure make her sit up an' take notice when she sees ye come in
reelin' an' staggerin'--eh, Kid? An' to-morrow you'll be sick mebbe, an'
she'll have ter nurse ye--oh, Bud'll fix things fer ye, I guess." Spike
glowered and pushed his half-emptied glass further away.
"I ain't goin' home soused!" he muttered.
"No?" said Soapy, faintly surprised. "Bud'll feel kind o' hurt, won't
he?"
"I ain't goin' home soused--not for Bud nor nobody else!"
"Why, then, if I was you, Kid, I should beat it before Bud comes in."
"I guess I will," said Spike, rising.
But now was sudden uproar of voices in the street hard by, a running
and trampling of feet, and, the swing doors opening, a group of men
appeared, bearing among them a heavy burden; and coming to the quiet
corner they laid M'Ginnis there.
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