“Youse've got more coin dan dis,” growled one of the men, “an' youse had better pass it over, or we'll find a way to make youse.”
But still she insisted that that was all. The tramp stepped into the kitchen. A wood fire was burning in the stove. A pair of pliers lay upon the window sill. With these he lifted one of the hot stove-hole covers and returned to the parlor, grinning.
“I guess she'll remember she's got more wen dis begins to woik,” he said. “Take off her shoes, Dink.”
The other growled an objection.
“Yeh poor boob,” he said. “De dicks'll be here in a little while. We'd better be makin' our get-away wid w'at we got.”
“Gee!” exclaimed his companion. “I clean forgot all about de dicks,” and then after a moment's silence during which his evil face underwent various changes of expression from fear to final relief, he turned an ugly, crooked grimace upon his companion.
“We got to croak her,” he said. “Dey ain't no udder way. If dey finds her alive she'll blab sure, an' dey won't be no trouble 'bout gettin' us or identifyin' us neither.”
The other shrugged.
“Le's beat it,” he whined. “We can't more'n do time fer dis job if we stop now; but de udder'll mean—” and he made a suggestive circle with a grimy finger close to his neck.
“No it won't nothin' of de kind,” urged his companion. “I got it all doped out. We got lots o' time before de dicks are due. We'll croak de skirt, an' den we'll beat it up de road AN' MEET DE DICKS—see?”