"He don't, eh? Well, what about all this talk that's goin' on—about him an' her, an' her an' him—eh?"
"What talk?" demanded Spike, suddenly troubled.
"Why, every one's beginnin' t' notice as they're always meetin' on th' stairs—an' him goin' into her flat, an' them talkin' an' laughin' together when you're out o' th' way—ah," growled M'Ginnis, between grinding white teeth, "an' likely as not kissin' an' squeezin' in corners—"
"That's enough—that's enough!" cried the boy, fronting M'Ginnis, fierce-eyed. "Nobody ain't goin' t' speak about Hermy that way."
"Y' can't help it, Kid. Here's this guy Geoff, this pal o' yours—been with her—in her flat with her, all th' mornin'—ain't he, Soapy?"
"'S' right, Kid!" nodded that pallid individual, the smouldering cigarette a-swing between pale lips; and, though he addressed Spike, his furtive eyes, watching aslant between narrowed lids, glittered to behold M'Ginnis's scowling brow; also the wolverine mouth curled faintly, so that the pendulous cigarette stirred and quivered.
"Oh, I'm handin' ye the straight goods, Kid," M'Ginnis went on. "I'm puttin' ye wise because you're my pal, an' because I've known Hermy an' been kind o' soft about her since we was kids."
"Well, then, you know she—she ain't that sort," said Spike, his voice quavering oddly. "So—don't you—say no more—see?"
"All right, Kid, all right—only I don't like t' see this pal o' yours gettin' in his dirty work behind your back. If anything happens—don't blame me—"
"What—what you tryin' t' tell me—you Bud?" questioned Spike, between quivering lips.