"That's just what you ain't!" snarled M'Ginnis. "Sit down! Hermy's only a work-girl—don't forget that, Kid—an' this guy's a millionaire. I guess he thinks Hermy'll do—till he gets tired of her an'—then what?"
"He—told me he's goin' t' marry her!" said Spike slowly, speaking with an effort, "an' I guess Geoff ain't a liar. An' I wanter—go home."
"Home—after she throwed ye out? Ain't ye got no pride?"
"Aw, say, Bud," sighed Soapy, "I guess d' Kid ain't soused enough for pride yet; sling another glass int' him—that'll fix him good, I reckon."
"I ain't g-goin' t' drink no more," said Spike, resting heavy head between his hands, "I guess I'll b-beat it home, f'lers."
"Bud," suggested Soapy, "ain't it about time you rang in little Maggie on him?"
M'Ginnis whirled upon the speaker, snarling, but Soapy, having lighted another cigarette, nudged Spike with a sharp elbow.
"Kid," said he, "Bud's goin' t' remind ye of little Maggie Finlay—you remember little Maggie as drowned herself." Spike lifted a pale face and stared from the placid Soapy to scowling Bud and shrank away.
"Yes," he whispered hoarsely, "yes—I'll never forget how she looked—pale, so pale an' still, an' th' water—runnin' out of her brown curls—I—I'll never forget—"
"Well," growled M'Ginnis, "watch out Hermy don't end th' same way."