“Kill Howard Milmarsh! He’s the worst!” shrieked the woman who had spoken first—the widow. “If he had any of the goodness of his father in him, he couldn’t have done it.”
“What are we waitin’ for, Bonesy?” demanded a man nearly as big as himself, who acted as a sort of lieutenant. “Ain’t we goin’ right up there?”
“Yes, but we want to know what we’re goin’ to do when we’re there,” returned Billings. “Things has to be did reg’lar an’ up to the handle. These mugs we’re goin’ to see is mighty slick. Don’t forget that.”
“Ain’t slick enough to rob us!” shouted the widow.
“They’ve did it already,” cried the other woman.
“Yes, but we’re goin’ to get our money back, an’ take it out of ’em by lickin’ ’em, too,” growled a man who had not spoken heretofore.
“If you guys will keep still a minute, I’d like to address the meeting,” announced Bonesy Billings, somewhat pompously.
“Good ol’ Bonesy!” enthusiastically shouted a young fellow in the background. “Let him spiel!”
“Shut up!” ordered Bonesy ungraciously. “This here ain’t your put-in nohow.”
“Scuse me!” rejoined the other, with a sarcastic inflection that he would not have dared to employ if he’d been nearer the powerful Billings. “It was in my nut that I had the floor. Scuse me!”