“Boy! You got workin’ quick with the smoke wagon, didn’t you?”
There was admiration in Nipper’s tone. The expression on his face, as well as his words, showed that he held a high opinion of Cliff’s prowess. Cliff smiled.
“What are you doing here, Nipper?” he questioned.
The stoop-shouldered man grinned. His pasty white face took on a crafty look.
“Workin’,” he said. “Good job. Keeps me out of the road of the bulls. But I ain’t intendin’ to stay here right along. When I sees a good lay, I’m goin’ to grab it.
“There’s plenty of guys come up here that are in the money. I’m goin’ to hook up with an A-1 racket when I sees the chance.”
Cliff nodded. He knew Nipper well. The fellow had been discharged from Sing Sing three months ago. He and Cliff had worked side by side in a shop; and Cliff had learned much from the man.
Brady was a product of the underworld. He knew the ways of gangdom and fitted in with them. He had been a pickpocket and a confidence man. He had handled a gun; in fact, it was a gun fight that had led to his term in the State prison.
But despite his record, despite his appearance and despite his contempt for the law, Nipper Brady possessed a sense of loyalty that Cliff had seen demonstrated conclusively on more than one occasion.
“I told you I was goin’ in for a racket,” reminded Nipper, in his low, hoarse voice. “That’s the game nowadays. Why get pinched for a stick-up when you can be doin’ somethin’ that looks like it’s on the level?