“Yes,” assented the old man, with a cunning wink, “he’s like his ma—considerable.”
“On account o’ this here cop business,” went on Mamma, ignoring the thrust, “he’ll have to be told a little about that Siebel affair. But about the rest—not a word. We kin run the other business without his assistance. Franzy’s a fine boy, an’ I’m proud of him, but ’twon’t do, as I told you afore, to give him too much power. I know the lad.”
“Yes,” insinuated Papa, with a dry cough, “I reckon you do.”
“Ye kin see by the way he took the lead to-night, that he won’t play no second part. We’ll have to tell him about Siebel—”
“An’ about Nance.”
“It’s the same thing; an’ ye’ll see what he does when we give him an idea about it.”
“I know what he’ll do;” with a crafty wink. “I’ll tell him all about Nance.”
“Yes,” muttered the old woman, “ye’re good at lyin’, and all the sneakin’ dodges.”
And she turned upon her heel, and went over to the pallet where Nance, undisturbed by the events transpiring around her, still lay as she had fallen in her drunken stupor.
“There’s another thing,” said Mamma, apparently satisfied with her survey of the unconscious girl, and returning to Papa as she spoke. “We’ve got to git out of here, of course, as soon as we’ve settled that spy in there.”