"Sit down, you rough-necks!" bellowed Hippy Wingate. "This is Christmas. Sit down unless you want me to give you a clip on the jaw!"
The jacks hesitated, drew back, then slouched to their seats, scowling threateningly.
"It'd serve me right if ye fellers beat me up," resumed Spike. "I'm no good. I never was and I'm goin' ter quit onless ye fire me afore I've got through speakin', but I wants ye folks t' know that I throwed that dirty money away, I did. It burned me like no money I ever filched did; it burned me inside and out and I slung it inter the river. I meant ter do ye a measly trick, ye folks, and I did, but I wants ye ter know partic'lar that Chet Ainsworth and that gang of his'n didn't git no information outer me. That's more'n I ever done for anybody afore. Ye've treated me white, ye have, Boss," he said, looking at Tom, "and I've—I've—" Spike gulped and swallowed hard. "I've opined ter do ye dirt."
Spike struggled for more words, and then, to the amazement of his fellows, sank into his seat with tears rolling down his cheeks.
A jack laughed. Hippy fixed him with a stern look. Tom Gray rose gravely.
"Don't laugh, fellows," he admonished. "You have seen one of your own bare his soul, if you can understand what that means. It takes a brave man to do that, boys, a man of wonderful courage. I wonder how many of you would have the courage to do the same. I'll have more to say on the subject of Spike in a moment. First, I want to thank you for your loyalty to us. We could not have won out if you hadn't been loyal. We are going to make money, as I have told you before, and you boys who have helped to make it are going to get your share."
"Give 'em a little rough stuff. They'll understand that better than they do this soul business," suggested Hippy, and the jacks grinned.
"As for Spike, he forgot to carry out his threat to resign—" resumed Tom.
"I quit, and I—" interrupted Spike, flushing hotly.
"Sit down!" commanded Hippy, forcing him back into his seat, from which Spike had started to rise.