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In spite of the slangy impudence that dropped from the pretty red lips the girl was slim and looked virginal. "You're 'way off. I wasn't callin' on her to " He stuck hopelessly. "Whadya know about that?" she came back with obvious sarcasm. "You soitainly give me a pain. I'll say you weren't callin' to arrange no Sunday School picnic. Listen. Look at that wall a minute, will you?"
He rang the bell and waited, his right hand on the pocket of his overcoat. The door opened cautiously a few inches and a pair of close-set eyes in a wrinkled face gimleted Clay. "Whadya want?" "The old man sent me with a message," answered the Arizonan promptly. "Spill it." "Are you alone?" "You know it." "Got everything ready for the girl?" "Say, who the hell are youse?" "One of Slim's friends.
The sophomore was staring. "Yes. Why, sure! Whadya mean?" demanded Carl. "Well, and wha' do you mean by 'broad'? Sure! He's broad just like a razor edge." "Heh?" echoed the next man down the row, a Y. M. C. A. senior. "Do you mean to say you liked it?" "Why, sure! Why not? Didn't you?" "Oh yes. Yes indeed!
His gaze fastened on the boy, after one swift glance round. "Who's with you, kid?" he demanded. Keith began to sniffle. "Nobody." "Whadya doin' here?" "I want my daddy." "Who is yore daddy? What's yore name?" "Keith Crawford." Shorty bit off an oath of surprise. "Howcome you here?" "A man brought me." The rustler brushed the cobwebs of sleep from his eyes and brain.
"Because you're not safe here. That gang will make yuh pay somehow for what yuh did." "And if your mother took me in they'd make her pay. You'd maybe lose your job." "I'd find another. I'm thinkin' of quittin' anyhow." "Say, whadya think I am? I'll not go. I can look out for myself." "I don't think they'd get Tim," put in Clay. "I'm goin' to see Collins and have a talk with him."
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