"Pete Glass!" he echoed. Then: "Who's he after?"

"I dunno. Vic, he don't look like such a bad one."

"He's plenty bad enough," Gregg assured her. "Ah-h-h!"

His foot ground into place, torturing his toes.

'"Well," considered Mrs. Pym, in a philosophic rumble, "I s'pose them quiet
gents is the dangerous ones, mostly; but looking at Glass you wouldn't
think he'd ever killed all those men. Know about the dance?"

"Nope."

"Down to Singer's place. Betty goin' with you?"

He jerked open the door and barked down at her: "Who else would she be
goin' with?"

"Don't start pullin' leather before the horse bucks," said Mrs. Pym. "I
don't know who else she'd be goin' with. You sure look fine in that red
shirt, Vic!"

He grinned, half mollified, half shame-faced, and ducked back into the
room, but a moment later he clumped stiffly down the stairs, frowning. He
wondered if he could dance in those boots.

"Feel kind of strange in these clothes. How do I look, Nelly?" And he
turned in review at the foot of the stairs.