Straight into the privacy of the Steele family came Mose and Soup; and the first hint of something wrong was when one of the bottles fell from its dizzy height, landed in the middle of the card table and shot its agitated contents into the face of James Worthington Steele.
“What the ——?” Thus said James Worthington Steele, pawing the suds out of his eyes.
It was then that Mose Jones side-stepped and gave them an unobstructed view of Soup Lannigan, who was enjoying himself hugely.
“Don’t yelp,” advised Soup coldly. “C’mere, you!”
He meant Alicia. She came. The combination of automatic and Soup’s face was enough to cow any one. Alicia sank into one of the seats and stared at Soup.
“Kinda pretty,” observed Soup appreciatively. “Gimme the sparks, kid. You too—” turning to Mrs. Steele—“hand over them rings. Shell out your money and make it fast. I ain’t got all day. C’mon! What the —— do yuh think this is; a lecture?”
They shelled. Soup held out his battered cap for the spoils and his eyes glittered. The hunting was much better than he anticipated. Mose Jones rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall, while his legs fairly twitched for a chance to run.
Far down the line the engine whistle signaled for the rear flagman to come in. Soup backed toward the rear door, his automatic covering the two men and two women.
“T’anks, folks,” he said. “I’ll be on me way now.”
He laughed mockingly and backed into a man, who had come through the rear door, filling the passageway with his bulk. Soup spun around, tried to use his automatic, but this hulk of a man tore it from his hand, threw it out of the window and proceeded to mop up the open space with the luckless Soup.