"Well, we are a kind of a band of hoodlums, you know, and I'm just enough idiot to feel that I don't care to hear—don't care to hear—well, her name used, you know."
"Bless your heart," replied Wrinkles, "we haven't used her name. We don't know her name. How could we use it?"
"Well, I know," said Hawker. "But you understand what I mean, Wrinkles."
"Yes, I understand what you mean," said Wrinkles, with dignity. "I don't suppose you are any worse of a stuff than common. Still, I didn't know that we were such outlaws."
"Of course, I have overdone the thing," responded Hawker hastily. "But—you ought to understand how I mean it, Wrinkles."
After Wrinkles had thought for a time, he said: "Well, I guess I do. All right. That goes."
Upon entering the den, Wrinkles said, "You fellows have got to quit guying Billie, do you hear?"
"We?" cried Grief. "We've got to quit? What do you do?"
"Well, I quit too."
Pennoyer said: "Ah, ha! Billie has been jumping on you."