"Not on your life," agreed Spike. "Say, boss, he must have got a lot of plunks to be able to b.u.t.t in here. An' I know how he got dem, too. Dat's right. I comes from little old New York, meself."

"Hush, Spike, this is scandal!"

"Sure," said the Bowery boy doggedly, safely started now on his favorite subject. "I knows, an' youse knows, boss. Gee! I wish I'd bin a cop. But I wasn't tall enough. Dey's de fellers wit' de big bank-rolls. Look at dis old McEachern. Money to boin a wet dog wit'

he's got, an' never a bit of woik fer it from de start to de finish.

An' look at me, boss."

"I do, Spike, I do."

"Look at me. Gittin' busy all de year round, woikin' to beat de band--"

"In prisons oft," said Jimmy.

"Sure t'ing. An' chased all roun' de town. An' den what? Why, to de bad at de end of it all. Say, it's enough to make a feller--"

"Turn honest," said Jimmy. "That's it, Spike. Reform. You'll be glad some day."

Spike seemed to be doubtful. He was silent for a moment, then, as if following up a train of thought, he said:

"Boss, dis is a fine big house."

"I've seen worse."

"Say, couldn't we--?"

"Spike!" said Jimmy, warningly.

"Well, couldn't we?" said Spike, doggedly. "It ain't often youse b.u.t.ts into a dead-easy proposition like dis one. We shouldn't have to do a t'ing excep' git busy. De stuff's just lyin' about, boss."

"I shouldn't wonder."

"Aw, it's a waste to leave it."

"Spike," said Jimmy, "I warned you of this. I begged you to be on your guard, to fight against your professional instincts. Be a man!

Crush them. Try and occupy your mind. Collect b.u.t.terflies."

Spike shuffled in gloomy silence.

"'Member dose jools youse swiped from de d.u.c.h.ess?" he said, musingly.

"The dear d.u.c.h.ess!" murmured Jimmy. "Ah, me!"

"An' de bank youse busted?"

"Those were happy days, Spike."

"Gee!" said the Bowery boy. And then, after a pause: "Dat was to de good," he said, wistfully.

Jimmy arranged his tie at the mirror.

"Dere's a loidy here," continued Spike, addressing the chest of drawers, "dat's got a necklace of jools what's wort' a hundred t'ousand plunks. Honest, boss. A hundred t'ousand plunks. Saunders told me dat--de old gazebo dat hands out de long woids. I says to him, 'Gee!' an' he says, 'Surest t'ing youse know.' A hundred t'ousand plunks!"

"So I understand," said Jimmy.

"Shall I rubber around, an' find out where is dey kept, boss?"

"Spike," said Jimmy, "ask me no more. All this is in direct contravention of our treaty respecting keeping your fingers off the spoons. You pain me. Desist."

"Sorry, boss. But dey'll be w.i.l.l.y-wonders, dem jools. A hundred t'ousand plunks. Dat's goin' some, ain't it? What's dat dis side?"

"Twenty thousand pounds."

"Gee!...Can I help youse wit' de duds, boss?"

"No, thanks, Spike, I'm through now. You might just give me a brush down, though. No, not that. That's a hair-brush. Try the big black one."

"Dis is a boid of a dude suit," observed Spike, pausing in his labors.

"Glad you like it, Spike. Rather chic, I think."

"It's de limit. Excuse me. How much did it set youse back, boss?"

"Something like seven guineas, I believe. I could look up the bill, and let you know."

"What's dat--guineas? Is dat more dan a pound?"

"A shilling more. Why these higher mathematics?"

Spike resumed his brushing.

"What a lot of dude suits youse could git," he observed meditatively, "if youse had dem jools!" He became suddenly animated.

He waved the clothes-brush. "Oh, you boss!" he cried. "What's eatin'

youse? Aw, it's a shame not to. Come along, you boss! Say, what's doin'? Why ain't youse sittin' in at de game? Oh, you boss!"

Whatever reply Jimmy might have made to this impa.s.sioned appeal was checked by a sudden bang on the door. Almost simultaneously, the handle turned.

"Gee!" cried Spike. "It's de cop!"

Jimmy smiled pleasantly.

"Come in, Mr. McEachern," he said, "come in. Journeys end in lovers meeting. You know my friend Mr. Mullins, I think? Shut the door, and sit down, and let's talk of many things."

CHAPTER XIV

CHECK AND A COUNTER MOVE