“How did youse get the woid?” demanded Jackeen, turning upon Ratface. It was he who had brought the warning.
“I'm a stool for one of the bulls,” replied Ratface, “an' it's him tells me you blokes is wanted, see!”
“So you're stoolin' for a Central Office cop?”
Jackeen's manner was fraught with suspicion. “How do we know you're givin' us th' correct dope?”
“Miller knows me,” returned Ratface, “an' so does Bill. They'll tell youse I'm a right guy. That stool thing is only a stall. I gets more out of the bull than he gets out of me. Sure; I give him a dead one now an' then, just be way of puttin' in a prop for meself. But not youse;—w'en it's any of me friends I puts 'em hep, see!”
“Do you sign for this duck?” demanded Jackeen of St. Louis Bill. “He's a new one on me.”
“Take it from me, he's all right,” said St. Louis Bill, decisively. “Why, you ought to know him, Jackeen. He joined out wit' that mob of gons Goldie Louie took to Syracuse last fall. He's no farmer, neither; Ricey there ain't got nothin' on him as a tool.”
This endorsement of Ratface settled all doubt. Jackeen's mind was made up. Addressing the others, he said:
“Fade's the woid! I'll meet youse over in Hoboken to-night at Beansey's. Better make th' ferry one at a time.”
“W'at do youse want to wait till night for?” asked Nannie Miller. “Th' foist t'ing you know you'll get th' collar.”