Spike looked somewhat embarrassed. He grinned apologetically, and shuffled his feet.
"I've got dem, boss!" he said, with a smirk.
"Got them? Got what?"
"Dese."
Spike plunged a hand in a pocket, and drew forth in a glittering mass Lady Julia Blunt's rope of diamonds.
CHAPTER XXII — TWO OF A TRADE DISAGREE
"One hundred t'ousand plunks," murmured Spike, gazing lovingly at them. "I says to myself, de boss ain't got no time to be gittin' after dem himself. He's too busy dese days wit' jollyin' along de swells. So, it's up to me, I says, 'cos de boss'll be tickled to deat', all right, all right, if we can git away wit' dem. So, I—"
Jimmy gave tongue with an energy that amazed his faithful follower. The nightmare horror of the situation had affected him much as a sudden blow in the parts about the waistcoat might have done. But, now, as Spike would have said, he caught up with his breath. The smirk faded slowly from the other's face as he listened. Not even in the Bowery, full as it was of candid friends, had he listened to such a trenchant summing-up of his mental and moral deficiencies.