“Course youse do. Well, Jack, dis here big Slim Wolfgang he’s a no-good son-of-a-gun—no foolin’. W’en I foist met up wid dat plug I t’o’t he was all to de bueno, but nuttin’ doin’. Jack, dat boid is nuttin’ but a dirty crook.”
“Yes?”
“Well, dat’s dat, den. Now, Jack, I never stole yer look-see—”
“Who accused you?”
“Well—now—I t’o’t maybe, seein’ youse didn’t savvy who did glom ’er, dat maybe youse t’o’t I did.”
“Look here, Whimperer,” said Joshua sternly, “you get down to business or get off and walk. I know you stole my telescope, so that ends it. Now tell your story and quit beating about the bush. I’m in no humor to monkey with you this morning. If I make you get off and walk you’ll suffer all the tortures of the damned before you reach Ragtown. Now come through—and tell the truth—or hit the gravel.”
“Jack, youse wouldn’t do dat to an old pal like—”
“Old pal be damned! Come across, or off you go!”
The Whimperer, pondered, reached for his bottle, thought better of it, and relaxed with a sigh of misery.
“Well, here she is, den,” he began. “An’ I’m givin’ it to youse straight, de whole trut’ an’ nuttin’ but de trut’—swelpmeGawd!