“Never mind muh lookth,” said Smithy. “I want to know what you fellers think of this?”
“I just told you. Whoever done it didn’t make you any handsomer,” interposed the proprietor of the hall. “Now, if you’ve had a fight outside, don’t bring it in here. We’re plumb peaceable here to-night, we are.”
“Wait till you hear what the kid’s got to say, Colorado,” put in one of those that had entered with Smithy.
“Spit it out!” advised the proprietor.
“I want to know what Mr. Joe Hurley thinks of this?” Smithy managed to make plain. “What do you think they are saying about Nell Blossom?”
“Nell Blossom?”
Hurley’s voice did not join the general chorus which repeated the cabaret singer’s name. But he looked up, his gaze met that of the parson, and a lightning glance of understanding passed between them.
“What’s eatin’ on you, Smithy?” demanded Colorado Brown.
“Up in Tolley’s. I was just in there. I heard Tolley and Tom Hicks and some others of his gang talkin’. I couldn’t help hearin’ what was said, and when I went for ’em this—this is what I got.”
He almost choked on the words. Joe Hurley rose up as though a slow spring uncoiled beneath him.