could be."

"'S right!" murmured the pale one imperturbably.

"Fond of tomatoes?" enquired Ravenslee.

"Aw!" answered his neighbour, "quit foolin'--talk sense!"

"Certainly! Why do you follow me, Soapy?"

Soapy's eyes grew narrower, and the pendent cigarette stirred slightly.

"Know me, hey?" he enquired.

"Heaven forbid! 'T was a bolt at a venture--a shot in the dark."

"Talkin'--o'--shootin'," said Soapy, grimly deliberate, "peanuts ain't a
healthy profesh around here--not fer your kind, it ain't!"

"Oh, I don't know," answered Ravenslee, shaking his head gently at the
tomatoes, "I've heard of professions even more unhealthy."

"Aw--well--say what?"

"Well, talking of shooting--yours!"

Soapy's narrow eyes gleamed with an added viciousness, his pale nostrils
expanded, but the retort died upon his curling mouth, his puffy eyelids
widened and widened as he stared at the ring on Ravenslee's finger, and
when he spoke his voice was strangely hoarse and eager.