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"But, boss !" Jimmy shook his head. "It can't be done, my lad." "But it can, boss," protested Spike. "It's dead easy. I've been up to de room, an' I seen de box what de jools is kept in. Why, it's de softest ever! We could get dem as easy as pullin' de plug out of a bottle. Why, say, dere's never been such a peach of a place for gittin' hold of de stuff as dis house. Dat's right, boss.
M. St.-Ange's replies were in falsetto and not without effect; for presently the parson's indignation and anger began to melt. "Don't ask me, Jools, I can't help you. It's no use; it's a matter of conscience with me, Jools." "Mais oui! 'tis a matt' of conscien' wid me, the same." "But, Jools, the money's none o' mine, nohow; it belongs to Smyrny, you know."
I know it's hard, but it's got to be done. Try and occupy your mind. Collect butterflies." Spike shuffled in gloomy silence. "'Member dose jools we got in de hotel de year before I was copped?" he asked at length irrelevantly. Jimmy finished tying his tie, looked at the result for a moment in the glass, then replied: "Yes, I remember." "We got anudder key dat fitted de door. 'Member dat?"
"Why, Jools, my dear friend, you know," said the shamefaced parson, "I never visit on Sundays." "Never w'at?" asked the astounded Creole. "No," said Jones, smiling awkwardly. "Never visite?" "Exceptin' sometimes amongst church-members." said Parson Jones. "Mais," said the seductive St.-Ange, "Miguel and Joe is church-member' certainlee! They love to talk about rilligion.
Id could not be the quitte, because my papa keep the bucket, an' forget to sen' the quitte to Father Pierre." Parson Jones was disappointed. "Well, now, Jools, you know, I don't think that was right. I reckon you must be a plum Catholic." M. St.-Ange shrugged. He would not deny his faith. "I am a Catholique, mais" brightening as he hoped to recommend himself anew "not a good one."
"When he found voice he said: "O Jools, Jools, Jools! my pore, noble, dear, mis-guidened friend! ef you hed of hed a Christian raisin'! May the Lord show you your errors better'n I kin, and bless you for your good intentions oh, no! I cayn't touch that money with a ten-foot pole; it wa'n't rightly got; you must really excuse me, my dear friend, but I cayn't touch it." St. Ange was petrified.
'Jules, go at Father Pierre an' ged this lill pitcher fill with holy water, an' tell him sen' his tin bucket, and I will make it fill with quitte. I ged the holy-water; my papa sprinkle it over the baril, an' make one cross on the 'ead of the baril." "Why, Jools," said Parson Jones, "that didn't do no good." "Din do no good! Id broughd the so great value!
And they met the next night, and from that heavning the young men were continyually together. Well, one day, as they were walking in the Quadrant, Jools talking, and Lord Yardham saying, "Wee, wee," they were struck all of a heap by seeing But my paper is igshosted, and I must dixcribe what they sor in the nex number.
"Say, Spike," said Jimmy, "do you know, I spent a whole heap of time before I left New York looking for you?" "Gee! I wish you'd found me! Did youse want me to help on some lay, boss? Is it a bank, or jools?" "Well, no, not that. Do you remember that night we broke into that house uptown the police-captain's house?" "Sure." "What was his name?" "What, de cop's? Why, McEachern, boss." "McWhat?
"'I defer to th' ar-rmy whose honor is beyond reproach, says th' polisman, 'or recognition, he says. 'Veev l'army! he says. "'Thank ye, says Gin'ral Bellow, salutin'. 'I will do me jooty. Man can do no more, he says. 'Jools, he says, 'surrinder, he says. 'Ye cannot longer hol' out, he says. 'Ye have provisions on'y f'r eight years.
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