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Domino poised in hand, Hogarty had turned in preoccupied resignation back to a perplexed contemplation of whether it would be better to play a blank-six and block the game or a double-blank and risk being caught with a handful of high counters, when Ogden reached out and clutched him by the wrist. "Shades of Miles Standish!" that silk-shirted person gasped.
As soon as you finish dressing Ogden here will show you the rest of the works, if you'd care to look around a little. It is entirely likely that we shall want to talk with you directly." He wheeled abruptly toward Ogden who had been listening without a word, the broad grin never leaving his lips. It was the silk-shirted boy to whom Hogarty addressed the rest of that sentence.
He wanted to note the effect which the sudden display of that pair of shoulders and set of back muscles would have upon Flash Hogarty's temper. As they crossed the long room Denny's grave lack of concern was made to seem almost stolid in contrast with the heliotrope silk-shirted boy's excessive nervousness. "Now remember what I told you," he whispered hoarsely.
"That's just what I do mean only a great deal more so!" "But I I couldn't very well do that now could I?" The silk-shirted shoulders shrugged hopelessly. "Well, since you ask me," he said, "judging from what I've already seen of your methods, I I'd say most emphatically no. I've done all I can when I advise you that now is the one best hour to make your getaway.
He bowed gracefully and reached out and silently shook hands. When he spoke, instead of the perfectly enunciated, picturesquely profane rebuke which the silk-shirted boy was waiting to hear, his voice was even smoother and softer, and choicer of intonation than usual. "Quite so," he stated. "Quite free from error or embarrassing mistake, sir. I am Mr. Jesse Hogarty.
He saw Hogarty leap over the ropes and kneel saw the boy Legs rush across with ammonia and water and he understood. Ogden was at his side, pounding him upon the shoulder and shrieking in his ear. His eyes lifted from the face of the fallen man to that of the heliotrope silk-shirted person beside him. "He's not really badly hurt, is he?" he inquired slowly. "I I didn't hit him too hard?"
Cool and clean and silk-shirted and freshly shaved, the contrast was sharp between him and the men sprawled on their beds or sitting listlessly around the table playing keno. Tom lifted an eyebrow at him; Lance sent him a look to match and went over to the card players. They did not want him in the bunk house.
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