nished save for the barest necessities, dirt everywhere, unkempt.
Pinkie Bonn broke in abruptly upon her inspection.
"That's all right!" he announced airily. "We'll let Nan in on it, too. The Pug an' me figures she can give us a hand."
Shluker's wizened little face seemed suddenly to go purple.
"Are you tryin' to make a fool of me?" he half screamed. "Or can't you understand English? D'ye want me to keep on tellin' you till I'm hoarse that there ain't nobody goin' in with you, because you ain't goin' in yourself! See? Understand that? There's nothing doin' to-night for anybody—and that means you!"
"Aw, shut up, Shluker!" It was the Pug now, a curious whispering sibilancy in his voice, due no doubt to the disfigurement of his lips. "Give Pinkie a chance to shoot his spiel before youse injure yerself throwin' a fit! Go on, Pinkie, spill it."
"Sure!" said Pinkie eagerly. "Listen, Shluk! It ain't any crib we're wantin' to crack, or nothin' like that. It's just a couple of crooks that won't dare open their yaps to the bulls, 'cause what we're after 'll be what they'll have pinched themselves. See?"
Shluker's face lost some of its belligerency, and in its place a dawning interest came.
"What's that?" he demanded cautiously. "What crooks?"
"French Pete an' Marny Day," said Pinkie—and grinned.
"Oh!" Shluker's eyebrows went up. He looked at the Pug, and the Pug winked knowingly with his half-closed left eyelid. Shluker reached out for a chair, and, finding it suspiciously wobbly, straddled it warily.
