"Go wi' me--wi' me?" he stammered. "You--go wi' me to Hell's Kitchen--to
Mulligan's Dump--you! Say, what kind o' song and dance are you giving
me, anyway? Aw--quit yer kiddin', sir!"

"But I mean it."

"On--on d' level?"

"On the level."

"Holy Gee!" and Spike relapsed into wide-eyed, voiceless wonder.

"Is it a go?" enquired Mr. Ravenslee.

"But--but, say--" stammered the boy, glancing from the elegant figure in
the chair around the luxurious room and back again, "but you're a--a--"

"Just a poor, disconsolate, lonely--er--guy!"

"What!" cried Spike, staring around him again, "with all this? Oh, yes,
you're homeless and starving, you are--I don't think!"

"Is it a go?"

"But say--whatcher want to go wi' me for? What's yer game? Put me wise."

"I am filled with desire to breathe awhile the salubrious air of Hell's
Kitchen; will you take me?" Now as he spoke, beholding the boy's staring
amaze, Mr. Ravenslee's frowning brows relaxed, his firm, clean-shaven