CHAPTER XV.
LITTLE EVA.
Early in March Jimmy was again forced to part with his watch. As he was coming out of the pawn-shop late in the afternoon he almost collided with Little Eva.
“For the love of Mike!” cried that young lady, “where have you been all this time, and what’s happened to you? You look as though you’d lost your last friend.” And then noting the shop from which he had emerged and the deduction being all too obvious, she laid one of her shapely hands upon the sleeve of his cheap, ill-fitting coat. “You’re up against it, kid, ain’t you?” she asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Jimmy ruefully. “I’m getting used to it.”
“I guess you’re too square,” said the girl. “I heard about that Brophy business.” And then she laughed softly. “Do you know who the biggest backers of that graft were?”
“No,” said Jimmy.
“Well, don’t laugh yourself to death,” she admonished. “They were Steve Murray and Feinheimer. Talk about sore pups! You never saw anything like it, and when they found who it was that had ditched their wonderful scheme they threw another fit. Say, those birds have been weeping on each other’s shoulders ever since.”
“Do you still breakfast at Feinheimer’s?” asked Jimmy.