"And you lined up square at the finish, too, as I knowed yous would,"
he went on. "You sees me pipin' yous off in town, and you was thinkin'
maybe I'd drop in here to-night and crack this old box f'r the swag
there'd be in it. You laid f'r me alone, because yit you wouldn't be
willin' to give me up. Ain't that the size of it, pally?"
"You've guessed it," I said, handing his own words back to him. "And
now one more question, Dorgan: have you quit the crooked business for
keeps?"
He was up and moving toward the open window when he replied.
"Who the hell would know that? I was a railroad man, pally, before I
took to the road. These days I'm eatin' my t'ree squares and sleepin'
good. But some fine mornin' a little man that I could break in halves
wit' my two hands 'll come dancin' along wit' a paper in his pocket and
a gun in his fist; and then it'll be all over but the shoutin'--or the
fun'ral. There's on'y the one sure thing about it, pally: I'll not be
goin' back to 'stir'--not alive; d'ye see? So long . . . don't let
them ducks get loose on yous and come at yous fr'm behind, whilst maybe
you'd be dozin' off."
And with this parting injunction he was gone.