“Youse get to bed, an’ get some sleep!” prompted Whitie Jack. “Youse can leave de mob to me.”
“Thanks, Whitie,” said Billy Kane. He moved across the room, and flung himself down on the bed. “I’m not going to forget this. You’ve handed me the glad paw to-night—and I’m not going to forget it.”
“Aw, dat’s all right!” said Whitie Jack earnestly. “I knows youse ain’t! An’, say, youse can take it from me on de level dat I’d rather have had dis chance dan have a thousand long green bucks in me mitt dis minute. Say, I knows it, don’t I, dat de Rat never forgets; an’ I knows dere’s about a million guys around here dat would give deir eye teeth for de chance dat came my way to-night!”
It was strange again—but the servility in the man’s tones that was coupled with elation was genuine beyond doubt. The Rat was unquestionably a character of prominence and power in the sordid realm wherein he appeared, by some at least, by this Whitie Jack for example, to be held in awe. That being so, it was obviously the Rat’s prerogative to command—Whitie Jack.
“All right, Whitie—that goes!” said Billy Kane tersely. “And now, beat it! But before you go leave me your gun. I got cleaned out when I lost my coat, and if anything comes of that little game of mine to-night I might need your iron. Yes, and leave those keys, too—I’ve no other way to lock the door.”
“Sure!” said Whitie Jack promptly. He took his revolver from his pocket, laid it on the table, and walked to the door. “Are youse sure dere’s nothin’ else youse wants, Bundy?”
“No, that’s all,” said Billy Kane.
“Well den, so long, Bundy!” said Whitie Jack. “I’ll see youse in de mornin’!”
“So long, Whitie!” said Billy Kane.