cans, "I useter know her once, an' I've jest nacherally took a fancy t'
that ring; if fifty dollars'll buy it, they're yours--right now."

"It isn't mine," answered Ravenslee, still scowling at the ring which
he had drawn from his finger. "I'm on my way to take it to--its owner.
But if that person doesn't want it, and I'm pretty sure--that
person--won't, you shall have it, I promise you. And now," said he,
pocketing the ring and turning, still scowling, on Soapy, "you are one
of M'Ginnis's gang, I fancy; anyway, if you see him you can tell him
from me that if he gives me another chance I'll surely kill him for the
foul beast he is."

"Sport," said Soapy, "I guess the Spider's right about you--anyway, you
ain't my meat. An' as fer killin' Bud--you sure ain't goin' t' get th'
chance--not while I have the say-so. S' long, sport!" and turning upon
his heel, Soapy lounged away.

At Times Square Ravenslee entered the subway and, buying his ticket, was
jostled by a boy, a freckled boy, round-headed and round of nose, who
stared at him with a pair of round, impertinent eyes.

Lost in happy speculation he was duly borne to One Hundred and Thirtieth
Street, where he boarded the ferry. Upon the boat he was again conscious
of a round head that bobbed here and there amid the throng of
passengers, but paid small heed as he leaned to watch the broad and
noble river and the green New Jersey shore. At Fort Lee, exchanging boat
for trolley car, he was once more vaguely conscious of two round eyes
that watched him from a rear seat; but as the powerful car whirled them
up-hill, plunged them down steep inclines, swung them around sharp
curves, through shady woods, past far-flung boughs whose leaves stirred