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Page 17
"P'raps old Shaynon's double-crossed her somehow we don't know nothin'
about. He ain't above it, if all they tell of him's true. Maybe he's
got her coin away from her, and she had to go to work for a livin'.
Stranger things have happened in this burg, P.S."
It was the turn of P.S. to hesitate in doubt; or at all events, so
George Bross inferred from a sudden change in the expression of the
little man's eyes. Momentarily they seemed to cloud, as if in
introspection. But he rallied quickly enough.
"All things are possible, George," he admitted with his quizzical
grin. "But this time you're mistaken. I'm not arguing with you,
George; I'm _telling_ you: you're hopelessly mistaken."
"You think so--huh?" growled George. "Well, I got eight iron bucks
that says Marian Blessington to any five of your money."
He made a bold show of his pay envelope.
"It'd be a shame to rob you, George," said P. Sybarite. "Besides,
you're bad-tempered when broke."
"Never you mind about that. Here's my eight, if you've got five that
makes a noise like Molly Lessing."
P. Sybarite laughed softly and produced the little wad of bills that
represented his weekly wage. At this, George involuntarily drew back.
"And how would you settle the bet?"
"Leave it to her," insisted George in an expiring gasp of bravado.
"You'd ask her yourself?"
"Ye-es--"
"And let it stand on her answer?"
"Wel-l--"
"Here she comes now," added P. Sybarite, glancing up the street.
"Quick, now; you've only a minute to decide. Is it a bet?"
With a gesture of brave decision, George returned his money to his
pocket.
"You're an easy mark," he observed in accents of deep pity. "I knew
you'd think I meant it."
"But didn't you, George?"
"Nah--nothin' like that! I was just kiddin' you along, to see how much
you'd swallow."
"It's all right then," agreed P. Sybarite. "Only--George!"
"Huh?"
"Don't you breathe a word of this to Miss Lessing?"
"Why not?"
"Because I tell you not to--because," said P. Sybarite firmly, "I
forbid you."
"You--you forbid me? Holy Mike! And what--"
"Sssh!" P. Sybarite warned him sibilantly. "Miss Lessing might hear
you.... What will happen if you disobey me," he added as the shop girl
turned in at the gateway, lowering his own voice and fixing the
shipping clerk with a steely stare, "will be another accident, much
resembling that of this afternoon--if you haven't forgotten. Now mind
what I tell you, and be good."
Mr. Bross swelled with resentment; exhibited a distorted and empurpled
visage; but kept silence.
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