"I've brought you a cell mate, Shiny," explained one of the guards.
"You want to be civil to him. He's just croaked a friend of yours."
"For de love o' Gawd. Who did he croak?"
"'Slim' Jim Collins. Cracked him one on the bean and that was
a-plenty. Hope you'll enjoy each other's society, gents." The guard
closed the door and departed.
"Is that right? Did youse do up 'Slim,' or was he kiddin' me?"
"I don't reckon we'll discuss that subject," said Clay blandly, but
with a note of finality in his voice.
"No offense, boss. It's an honor to have so distinguished a gent for a
cell pal. For that matter I ain't no cheap rat myself. Dey pinched me
for shovin' de queer. I'd ought to get fifteen years," he said proudly.
This drew a grin from Lindsay, though not exactly a merry one. "If
you're anxious for a long term you can have some of mine," he told the
counterfeiter.
"Maybe youse'll go up Salt Creek," said Shiny hopefully.
Afraid the allusion might not be understood, he thoughtfully explained
that this was the underworld term for the electric chair.
Clay made no further comment. He found the theme a gruesome one.
"Anyhow, I'm glad dey didn't put no hoister nor damper-getter wit' me.
I'm partickler who I meet. De whole profesh is gettin' run down at de
heel. I'm dead sick of rats who can't do nothin' but lift pokes,"
concluded the occupant of the lower berth with disgust.
Though Clay's nerves were of the best he did very little sleeping that
night.
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