Deferring to Matt's better judgment, McGlory arose, and he and Matt followed Prebbles around one corner of the hotel, and into the dusky regions that lay in the vicinity of the rear of the building.
Here, in a place where they could talk unheard by outsiders, Prebbles halted.
"What's the matter, Prebbles?" queried Matt, as he and McGlory drew close.
"Who's that with you?" asked Prebbles guardedly.
"A friend of mine."
"Is he the one that hit Siwash Charley with the stone?"
"Yes."
"All right, then. I got to be careful. If I'm not, Murg'll find out about this and pull the pin on me. I get eight dollars a week workin' for him, and I can't afford to lose it. Eight dollars a week pays my board, takes care of my laundry bills, buys a War Cry, and gives a little to the army every week. You boys belong?"
"Belong to what, Prebbles?" asked Matt.
"To the Salvation Army," answered Prebbles earnestly.