read about in th' magazines, are ye?"

"No more than you are one of these dirty gang loafers you hear about
around O'Rourke's--and that's why you're going to help me root 'em out."

"Sufferin' Pete!" sighed the Spider, "here I keep tellin' you I ain't on
in this act, an' here you keep on ringin' me in frequent all the same."

"Because you are a man, Spider Connolly, and white all through, and
because to smash up this gang is going to be man's work."

"Well, it sure ain't no job for Sophy the Satin-skinned Show-girl--nor
yet for two nice, quiet little fellers like you an' me."

"We shan't be quite alone, Spider."

"That's some comfortin', anyway!"

"There will be Joe Madden, for one."

"Joe Mad--" The Spider very nearly bolted his wad of chewing gum, then
he rose and stood staring at Ravenslee, very round of eye. "So you know
Joe Madden, the best all-round champion that ever happened, eh?"

"I box with him every day."

"Hully Chee!" exclaimed the Spider, and chewed fervently in silent
astonishment. Suddenly he lifted his head and stood as one that hearkens
to distant sounds, and crossing stealthily to the window, climbed out.

"What's the matter?"

"Mother Trapes, bo. She's just rollin' out o' th' feathers, an' she's
quite enough for me--always has me fazed to a frazzle. If she caught me
here it 'ud be th' gimlet eye for mine--so here's where I fade away."

"Anyway, come and have tea here with me to-night, Spider, unless
you think I am--er--too dangerous to visit just now on account of
M'Ginnis--"

"Dangerous?" repeated the Spider, scowling, "bo, when I get a call t'
free food with a guy like you, danger gets lost in th' shuffle an'
forgotten--I'll be there. Now here's your bean cover--catch! S' long!"
And nodding, Spider promptly vanished down the fire escape.

CHAPTER XXIII

CHIEFLY CONCERNING A LETTER

"Sunday," said Mrs. Trapes sententiously, "Sunday is a holy day t' some
folks an' a holiday for other folks, but t' folks like me an' Hermy it
sure ain't no day of rest an' gladness--like the hymn book says."

"Isn't it?" said Ravenslee, pushing away his coffee cup and glancing
toward the loud-ticking clock upon the sideboard.

"It sure ain't!" nodded Mrs. Trapes, quick to note the look. "Hermy an'
me ain't much given to Sunday observance, Mr. Geoffrey. Y' see, there's
always meals t' be cooked an' washin' up t' be done, an' clo'es t' be
mended p'raps. I've darned many a 'eartfelt prayer i