"Ah, but you know it did," said M'Ginnis, "an' I know it, an' Soapy knows it did—don't yer, Soapy?"
"'S' right!" nodded Soapy, his voice soft, his eyes hard and malevolent.
"So we kinder want t' know," continued M'Ginnis, heedless always of those baleful watching eyes, "we just want t' get on t' how you—"
"Oh, say—give it a rest!" cried Spike desperately. "Give it a rest, can't ye?"
"Why, then, Kid, what about comin' over t' O'Rourke's t'night?"
Spike wrung his hands. "If Hermy finds out, she'll—cry, I guess—"
"Hermy!" growled M'Ginnis, black brows fierce and scowling, "a hell of a lot you care for Hermy, I—don't think!"
"Say now, you Bud, whatcher mean?" demanded Spike, quivering with sudden anger.
"Just this, Kid—what kind of a brother are ye t' go lettin' that noo pal o' yours—that guy you call Geoff—go sneaking round her morning, noon, an' night?"
"You cut that out, Bud M'Ginnis. Geoff don't! Geoff ain't that kind."