“Goshamighty!” he said, “who in —— are you?”
He took one of the stranger’s delicate hands in his black and bleeding palms, and critically examined it.
“That? Why, my woman’s paw is stronger ’n’ bigger ’n that!” contemptuously. “And you didn’t overdo it neither. Pity! If you’d only made it manslaughter—why, I could ha’ sent ye up on my antumortim deppysition.”
“Oh, I knew better than that,” replied the stranger calmly, turning for his hat. He thought of the boxing-lessons that he used to take on the Back Bay, years ago. Some one in the crowd brushed off the hat with the back of a dusty elbow, and handed it respectfully to the gentleman. The girl in the reefer picked up his valise.
“I’ve kep’ my eye on it, for you,” she said in a softened voice.
“Well,” said Job Slip slowly, “I guess I’ll keep my eye on him.”
“Do!” answered the stranger heartily. “I wish you would. They don’t fight where I’m going.”
“Who be you, anyway?” demanded Job Slip with undisguised admiration. He had not made up his mind yet whether to spring at the other’s throat, or to offer him a drink.
“I’m in too much of a hurry to tell you now,” answered the gentleman quietly. “I’ve missed the most important engagement of my life—to save your child.”
“He’s goin’ to his weddin’,” muttered a voice behind him. The girl started the chorus of a song which he had never heard before, and was not anxious to hear again.