The Doc regarded him keenly. "Oh, is that it? Well, hunt for it somewhere else, or I'll kick you through the window!"
Two-Spot flared up. "You got my permission——"
"Shut up!" snapped Dave. "Now, Doc, as I was sayin'—what'n h—l was I sayin'? Well, anyhow, I said it," he asserted, belligerently. "What you aimin' to do now?"
"Dance on th' quicksands, I hope," grunted Two-Spot, savagely. Then he listened, and said: "Here comes Nelson on that fine little hoss." Under his breath he muttered, "I bet he'll be surprised to find out he was in here at nine-thirty, last night." He straightened up. "Huh! Mebby he won't. Mebby he fixed it with Dave. Well, if he's wise, he'll tip me off next time—I might tell th' truth, an' make a lot of trouble, if I didn't know."
Johnny walked in. "Hello, Ol' Timer!" he said, jabbing Two-Spot in the ribs.
Two-Spot grasped the broom handle firmly. "Hello, yoreself! An' you lookout who yo're punchin'," he grinned. "Squint's dead," he said, mournfully.
"What?"
"Oh, well; he's missin', anyhow," amended Two-Spot.
"Missin' what?" asked Johnny.
"Missin' himself!"