"Not me, Bud, I—I ain't here for that," said Spike. "I come t' tell ye as some dirty guy's been an' blown th' game on me t' Hermy; she—she knows everything, an' to-night she—drove me away from her—"
"Did she, Kid, oh, did she?" said M'Ginnis, a new note of eagerness in his voice. "Drove ye out onto th' streets, Kid? That's dam' hard on you!"
"Yes, Bud, I—guess she—don't want me around—"
"Kind o' looks that way!" nodded M'Ginnis, and filling Spike's glass, he put it into the boy's unwilling fingers. "Take a drink, Kid; ye sure need it!" said he.
"'S right," murmured Soapy, "told ye Bud 'ud comfort ye, didn't I, Kid?"
"So Hermy's drove ye away?" said M'Ginnis, "throwed ye out—eh?"
"She sure has, Bud, an' I—Oh, I'm miserable as hell!"
"Why, then, get some o' Bud's comfort into ye, Kid," murmured Soapy. "Lap it up good, Kid; there's plenty more—in th' bottle!"
"Let him alone," growled M'Ginnis, "he don't want you buttin' in!"
"'S right, too, Bud!" nodded Soapy, "he's got you, ain't he? An' you—got him, ain't you?"