"Beat it now or we'll croak the two of you! And peddle the word that no rough stuff goes here. Do you get that?" There was the impact of a boot planted against flesh, and the next instant June's deliverers had re-entered and closed the door.
One of them was sucking a wound in the fleshy part of his hand where a falling revolver hammer had punched him, but he inquired in a thoroughly business-like tone, "Got a little hot water, June?"
June emerged weakly from behind her desk. "W-what does it all—mean?"
"Oh, it's all right. They won't trouble you no more."
"They came to—rob me, and you knew it—"
"Sure! Harry Hope got full and told about leaving eight thousand dollars with you; so we beat 'em to it."
"But why didn't you say so? You frightened me."
"We wasn't sure they'd try it, and we didn't like to work you up."
"Please—who are you?"
"Us? Why, we're Wag-boys! Llewellyn's our pal. I'm Charley Fitzhugh; they call me the Dummy. And this is Thomasville."