"Yes, I'll stow it all right when we're all sent to the jug. I tell yer I ain't fit to work. The last time I got pinched, I pretty near croaked. I wasn't made to work."
"We ain't going to get pinched," said James. "You make more talk over two suits of clothes—"
"It ain't the clothes. It's the damn fool notion of swipin' 'em and then comin' right back here, and not makin' no get-away—"
"This hang-out is more than four miles from the burg, you galoot," sneered the Watermelon. "No one would think of coppin' us here. They'll go to the next town, or else watch the railroads—"
"But they might—"
"Might what? Might be bloomin' fools like you."
"Where are you goin' to be shaved?"
"In a barber shop," said James mildly. "You probably favor a lawn-mower, but personally I prefer a barber."
"Yes," wailed Mike, "go to a barber shop and let every guy in town get his lamps on yer—"
"You're gettin' old, Mike, me boy, and losin' yer nerve," said James. He stretched and yawned. "Well, I'm off before church time or the barbers will be closed. Remember, Mike, this afternoon, between four and five."