"Oh, everything's wrong. Dean's been here--now he's pinched!"
"No! What for?"
"You'd never guess."
"The big mitt?"
"No, short change! He came in drunk--he's been at it for a month; of course, if he hadn't, he wouldn't have done anything so foolish. Did you know a moll buzzer named McGlynn? Well, he got home the other day from doin' a stretch, and Ed gets sorry for him and promises to take him out. So they go down to the spill and turned a sucker--Ed flopped him for a ten!" Gibbs's tone expressed the greatest contempt. "He'll be doing a heel or a stick-up next, or go shark hunting. Think of Ed Dean's being in for a thing like that!"
"Is he down at the boob?"
"No, we sprung him on paper. He's all broke up--you heard about McDougall?"
"What about him?"
"Dead; didn't you know? Died in Baltimore--some one shot him in a saloon. He wouldn't tell who; he was game--died saying it was all right, that the guy wasn't to blame. And then," Gibbs went on, "that ain't all. Dempsey was settled."
"Yes, I read it in the paper."