A few seconds
passed--a half minute. Still mumbling, Jimmie Dale, with a caress like
that of a miser for his gold, was fondling the shining little instrument
in his hand--and then the hanging was suddenly thrust aside.
Jimmie Dale neither looked up, nor appeared to be conscious of any one's
presence--but he had already recognised the voices of the two men from
the adjoining compartment, who, he was quite well aware, were staring in
at him now. The smaller, with sharp, cunning, beady, black eyes, the
prime mover in the scheme that had just been outlined, was a clever and
dangerous "box-worker,", known as the Rat; the other, a heavy,
vicious-faced man, with eyes quite as beady and unpleasant as those of
his companion, was Muggy Ladd, who made his living as a "stagehand" for
those, such as the Rat, who were more gifted than himself.
"Satisfied?" inquired the Rat "He's full up to de eyes wid it now. Foo
said he'd been hittin' it up hard fer de last hour." The Rat addressed
Jimmie Dale. "Hello, Smarly!" he called out.
Jimmie Dale lifted his head, and blinked at the cretonne hanging.
"Lemme alone!" he complained thickly. "Go 'way, an' lemme alone!
"Sure!" said the Rat genially.
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