“Married that violent girl, who was dead on him, and went and joined him as soon as she knew he was in trouble.”
“Did she, though?” said Dick. “Well, ’ang me if I ever liked her, with her twissened eyes, till now; but that was a good one. Hopper, Max spent all that poor gal’s money, which was hard on her. Could you get to let her have a hundred pounds if I give you a cheque? You can come those dodges of sending money on the sly most artfully.”
Hopper chuckled as Dick poked him in the side with his pipe-stem. “No, no, no, Dick, they are in America by now; and Fred will be better without money. Make him work.”
He began to refill his pipe as he spoke.
“I never could make out how it was he got off so easily to America. The police wasn’t half sharp; but it was a good job. How about the extra tradition, as they called it?”
“Hey? Extradition?” said Hopper. “Ha! there was a reason for that.”
He opened his pocket-book, took out a slip of blue paper, folded it, and, striking a match, lit the paper and held it to his pipe.
“I say,” said Dick, “what’s that you’re burning?”
“An old bill,” was the reply—“I’m using ’em up by degrees.”
“An old bill?” said Dick; for Hopper looked at him curiously.