He had washed the blood and dirt from him, had brushed and straightened
his dusty garments, but he couldn't hide the cuts and bruises that
disfigured his face, nor his scratched and swollen throat.
"What you here for?" he demanded, as Soapy closed the door, "didn't send
for you, did I?"
"No, that's why I come, Bud."
"But, say, Bud, what--what's been th' matter?" stammered Spike, his gaze
upon M'Ginnis's battered face, "who's been--"
"Matter? Nothin'! I had a bit of a rough-house as I come along--"
"'S right," nodded Soapy, "you sure look it! Never seen a fatter eye--"
"Well, what you got t' beef about?"
"Nothin', Bud, only--"
"Only what?"
"It's kind o' tough you losin' them couple o' teeth--or is it three?"
M'Ginnis turned on him with a snarl. "A-r-r-, you--! Some day I'm goin'
t' kick the insides out o' ye!"
"Some day, Bud, sure. I'll be waitin'! Meantime why not get some
doctor-guy t' put ye face back in shape--gee, I hate t' see ye--you look
like a butcher's shop! An' them split lips pains some, I guess!"
Here, while M'Ginnis choked in impotent rage, Soapy lit a fresh
cigarette from the butt of the last and held out the packet.
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