"Sure thing," grumped Shorty unbelievingly.

"You see," continued Link, "We're in bad, this guy escaping and all,

and like as not Pat swiping all the boodle and layin' the blame onto

us. You can't tell what might happen with Pat an' Sam, the dirty

devils. They might even let it come to a trial and testify against us.

Sam has it in fer me an' you this long time, 'count of that last pretty

little safe blow-out that didn't materialize. See?"

Shorty growled gloomily.

"Now on the other hand if we can step in before it is too late, or

before the news of his havin' escaped gets to his fond parents, and get

in our little work, we might at least make expenses out of it and beat

it out of the country fer a while. I been thinkin' of South America fer

my health fer some time past. How 'bout you?"

"Suits me. But how you gonta work it?"

"Well, you see I know a little bit about wimmen. An' I seen this woman

oncet. If she was one of these here newfangled political kind you

couldn't do nothin' with her, she'd be onta you in no time an' have you

up before the supreme court 'fore she goddone, but this here woman is

one o' them old fashioned, useless kind that's afraid of everything and

cries easy, and gets scairt at her shadder. I seen her on the board

walk once with her husband, took notice to her, thought I might need it

sometime. She has gray hair but she ain't never growed up. She was

ridin' in a wheeled chair, an' him walkin' beside her an' a man behind

pushin' her, an' a maid comin' along with a fur coat. She never done a

thing fer herself, not even think, an' that's the kind you can put

anything over on from a teaparty to a blizzard without her suspectin' a

thing. Shorty, I'm gonta make up to Mrs. Shafton an' see what I can get

out of her. But we gotta get a trolley line down to Unity an' catch

that evenin' train. See?"

About half-past ten that night, with the moon at full sail, Shorty and

Link, keeping the shady side of the street, slunk into a little

obscure, and as yet unsuppressed saloon in a back street in a dirty

little manufacturing city not many miles from Unity. Just off the side

entrance was a back hall in which lurked a dark smelly little telephone

booth under a staircase, too far removed from the noisy crowd that

frequented the place to be heard. Here Link took instant refuge with

Shorty bulking largely in front of the door, smoking a thin black

twisted cigar, and looking anything but happy. He had figured greatly

on getting his share of a million, and now at a single shot he had let

it go through his fingers. There were reasons why he needed that part

of a million at once. Link had all sorts of nerve. He called up the

Shafton home in New Jersey and jollied the maid, calling her girlie,

and saying he was in the employ of young Laurie Shafton and had a

special private message from the young man to his mother. It was not

long before a peevish elderly voice in his ear said: "Well? Mrs. Shafton at the phone."




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