“Get rid of it.”
“That’s a lot easier said than done. Besides, that brass is worth a tidy sum o’ money.”
“Then why not sell it tonight?” Joe proposed suddenly. “If we can get it to the junkman who has a place across from the factory, he’ll pay us a good price. We can complete the deal, and still get out of town before midnight.”
“That’s okay for you,” Harper argued, “but Ma and I own property here, and we got a good business.”
“It was your stupid wife’s stocking business that got us into this jam!” Clark Clayton snarled.
“I ain’t talkin’ about that. I mean our dance hall. We clean up about a hundred bucks every Saturday night.”
“You should have thought about that before you went in with us,” Joe retorted. “You knew the risks you were taking. Anyway, this mess was your wife’s making.”
A silence fell, and then Clark Clayton said: “We ain’t gettin’ nowhere. We got to decide what we’re goin’ to do, and we got to make sure that gal don’t get out o’ this weed patch until we’ve arranged our escape.”
In whispers, the men conferred. Though Penny strained her ears, she could not catch a single word. However, a plan satisfactory to the three seemed to have been formulated, for presently, the two boats separated.
Sweeper Joe and Clark Clayton paddled off, heading for the pier at the Harpers’. The other man remained in his rowboat, unquestionably detailed to keep watch of the grass patch and prevent the girl’s escape.