Again it was McGrew who broke the silence.
"What are you going to do?" he asked miserably. "What are you going to do? Use the key and put them wise? You wouldn't do that, would you—Charlie? You wouldn't throw me down—would you? I'm—I'm living decent here."
The Kid made no answer—made no movement.
"Charlie!" McGrew's voice rose in a high-pitched, nervous appeal. "Charlie—what are you going to do?"
"Nothing!" The Kid's eyes were still on the black, rock shadow through the station window, and the words came monotonously. "Nothing! As far as I am concerned, you are—Dan McGrew."
McGrew lurched heavily forward, relief in his face and voice as he put his hands on the Kid's shoulders.
"You're all right, Charlie, all right; I knew you wouldn't——"
The Kid sprang to his feet, and flung the other's hands roughly from his shoulders.
"Keep your hands off me!" he said tensely. "I don't stand for that! And let's understand each other. You do your work here, and I do mine. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want you to talk to me. I don't want anything to do with you—that's as straight as I know how to put it. The first chance I get I'll move—they'll never move you, for I know why they sent you here. That's all, and that's where we stand—McGrew."
"D'ye mean that?" said McGrew, in a cowed, helpless way.