"Good evening!" said Ravenslee and held out his hand. The Spider ceased chewing for a moment, nodded, and turning to Spike, chewed fiercer than ever.
"Where youse goin', Kid?" he enquired, masticating the while.
"What was you goin' to tell me, Spider?" demanded Spike, a note of sudden anxiety in his voice.
"Nawthin', Kid."
"Aw—come off, Spider! What was it?"
The Spider glanced up at the gloomy sky, glanced down at the dingy pavement, and finally beckoned Spike aside with a quick back-jerk of the head, and, stooping close, whispered something in his ear—something that caused the boy to start away with clenched hands and face of horror, something that seemed to trouble him beyond speech, for he stood a moment dumb and staring, then found utterance in a sudden, hoarse cry:
"No—no! It ain't true—oh, my God!"
And with the cry, Spike turned sharp about and, springing to a run, vanished into the shadows.
"What's the matter?" demanded Ravenslee, turning on the Spider.
"Matter?" repeated that youth, staring at him under his cap brim again; "well, say—I guess you'd better ask d' Kid."