She left The Golden Eagle and passed along the street toward The Silver Dollar, a few doors distant. The darting glances of several stiffs lounging about the doorways followed her as she tripped along, singing softly. For The Weeper was a “dresser,” and she carried herself with pride. There was about her, also, an air of “something better,” even though she did chew gum too rapidly.
In five minutes she was back in The Golden Eagle and handing Slim a dirty letter.
Slim laid his cards on the table, and, without excusing himself to his dummy antagonist at stud, tore open the envelope and frowned in puzzlement at the contents.
Then he spoke shortly to his capper.
“Deal ’em out, Johnny,” he said. “I’ll send Nick in to cap for youse. C’mon, Win; I wanta show youse sumpin.”
Dutifully the girl followed him out, and they walked together to the tent through which Joshua Cole had chased The Whimperer.
Inside they sat down on the bed.
“Read dat, will youse?” offered the gambler, and angrily thrust the letter into Winnie’s hand.
She read as follows:
“Slim Wolfgang: