Part 91 (1/2)

”B-b.u.t.tons!” stammered Spike. ”What yer mean? What b.u.t.tons?”

The Old Un, who happened to have been dozing in the limousine that stood in a shady corner, sat up suddenly and blinked.

”Why, I mean,” answered the Spider, wringing water from the sponge he held and speaking very deliberately, ”I mean the b.u.t.ton as you--left behind you--in th' wood!”

Spike gasped and sat down weakly upon the running-board of a car, and the Old Un stole a furtive peep at him.

”So you--know--?”

”Sure I know--more 'n I want t' know about you, so--chase yourself out o' here--beat it!”

Spike stared in mute amazement, then flushed painfully.

”You mean--you an' me--ain't goin' t' be pals no longer?” he asked wistfully.

”That's what!” nodded the Spider, without lifting his scowling gaze from the sponge. ”Kid, I ain't no Gold-medal Sunday-school scholar nor I ain't never won no prizes at any Purity League conference, but there's some guys too rotten even f'r me!”

”But I--I--saved his life, didn't I?”

”That ain't nothin' t' blow about after what you did in that wood. Oh, wake up an' see just how dirty an' rotten you are!”

Spike rose and stood, his hands tight-clenched, and though he tried to frown, he couldn't hide the pitiful twitching of his lips nor the quaver in his voice.

”I guess you mean you're goin' t' give me th' throw-down?”

”Well,” answered the Spider, scowling at the sponge in his hand, ”there's jest two or three things as I ain't got no use for, an' one of 'em's--murder!”

Hereupon Spike shrank away, and the Old Un, reaching out stealthily, opened the door of the limousine while the Spider fell to work again, splas.h.i.+ng more than ever. Thus as Spike crept away with head a-droop, the Old Un, all unnoticed, stole after him, his old eyes very bright and birdlike, and, as he followed, keeping in the shade of hedge and tree as much as possible, he whispered a word to himself over and over again:

”Lorgorramighty!”

But Spike went on with dragging feet, ignorant that any one followed, lost in a sudden sense of shame such as he had never known before--a shame that was an agony: for though his bodily eyes were blinded with bitter tears, the eyes of his mind were opened wide at last, and he saw himself foul and dirty, even as the Spider had said. So on stumbling feet Spike reached a shady, gra.s.sy corner remote from all chance of observation and, throwing himself down there, he lay with his face hidden, wetting the gra.s.s with the tears of his abas.e.m.e.nt.

When at last he raised his head, he beheld a little old man leaning patiently against a tree near by and watching him with a pair of baleful eyes.

”h.e.l.lo!” said Spike wearily. ”Who are you?”

”I'm Fate, I am!” nodded the Old Un. ”Persooin' Fate, that's me.”

”What yer here for, anyway?” enquired the lad, humble in his abas.e.m.e.nt.

”I'm here to persoo!”

”Say, now, what's your game; what yer want?”

”I want you, me lad.”

”Well, say--beat it, please--I want t' be alone.”