"Then we must trust our luck, and I've got a hunch we shall get Spike away somehow before Mr. Flowers dopes him or makes him drunk; anyway we'll try. The dressing rooms are behind the annex, aren't they?"
"Know the place, do ye?"
"I've looked it over. We can get in behind the annex, can't we?"
"In?" repeated the Spider, smiling grimly. "Oh, we'll get in all right; what gets my goat is how we're goin' t' get out again. You sure are a bird for takin' chances, Geoff."
"Life is made up of chances, Spider, and there are two kinds of men—those who take them joyfully and those who don't."
"Well, say, you can scratch me on the joyful business. I'm th' guy as only takes chances he's paid t' take."
"How much are you getting on this job, Spider?"
"Oh—well—I mean—say, what's th' time, bo?"
"Five minutes after eight—why?"
"I guess d' Kid's in th' ring, then. There's a full card t'night, an' he's scheduled for eight sharp, so I reckon he's fightin' now—an' good luck to him!" By this time they had reached that dark and quiet neighbourhood where stood O'Rourke's saloon. But to-night the big annex glared with light, and the air about it was full of a dull, hoarse, insistent clamour that swelled all at once to a chorus of discordant shrieks and frenzied cries.