"Ye mus' be sick!" he exclaimed eloquently. "I got in 'ere myself, an' 'ere I'm goin' ter stay."
"Naw, ye ain't!—naw, ye ain't!" The old soft cap nodded with malicious significance.
"Who is able ter take me out?—ye ain't, fur sure!" the devil retorted from his lofty perch.
The shapeless old cap emitted but one word. "Perlice."
Ned was silent for a moment. The old cap bobbed about very merrily, for Pete executed a double shuffle of derision and triumph.
"Perlice hes got nothin' ter do with me," Ned declared stoutly. "The theaytre folks would jes' put me outer doors,—an' they hes got ter ketch me fust." He wagged his red head as much as to say that this should be a tough job.
Pete still danced.
"Perlice will take ye ter the lock-up for beatin' fifty cents outer the theaytre folks."
The devil snapped his fingers.
The dance paused for the more serious business of argument. "An' for breakin' in the back window, an' mebbe stealin' di'monds an' fine fixin's outer the star's dressin'-room. I'm goin' ter the station right now with that tale," added the shameless Pete. "Come down out o' that there window or go ter jail,—you bet!"