What kind of cheap skates do you
take us for?"
"Well, that's all right," said Peter. "But you know, Mr. Guffey
didn't give me any reason to think he loved me. I still can hardly
use this wrist like I used to."
"Well, he was trying to get some information out of you," said
McGivney. "He thought you were one of them dynamiters--how could you
blame him? You give me the name of that spy, and I'll see you get
your money."
But still Peter wouldn't yield. He was afraid of the rat-faced
McGivney, and his heart was thumping fast, but he stood his ground.
"I think I ought to see that money," he said, doggedly.
"Say, what the hell do you take me for?" demanded the detective.
"D'you suppose I'm going to give you two hundred dollars and then
have you give me some fake name and skip?"
"Oh, I wouldn't do that!" cried Peter.
"How do I know you wouldn't?"
"Well, I want to go on working for you."
"Sure, and we want you to go on working for us. This ain't the last
secret we'll get from you, and you'll find we play straight with our
people--how'd we ever get anywheres otherwise? There's a million
dollars been put up to hang that Goober crowd, and if you deliver
the goods, you'll get your share, and get it right on time.
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