When Curly and Archie entered, a man of sixty years with thick white hair above a wide white brow, in shirt-sleeves, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and his trousers girded tightly into the fat at his waist, came out, treading softly in slippers.
"A friend of mine, Mr. Gray," said Curly. "He’s right. He’s just done his bit; got home last night, and the bulls pinched him. He’s got orders and I’m going to take him out with me. But we can’t go yet--Phillie Dave’s out."
The old man smiled vaguely at the mention of the old thief.
"All right," he said, taking Archie’s hand.
Archie felt a glow of pride when Curly mentioned his having done his bit; he was already conscious, now that he had a record, of improved standing.
"Who’s back there?" asked Curly, jerking his head toward a partition from behind which voices came.
"A couple of the girls," said old Sam. "You know ’em, I guess."
The two women who sat at a table in the rear room looked up hastily when the men appeared.
"Hello, Curly," they said, in surprise and relief.
They had passed thirty, were well dressed in street gowns, wore gloves, and carried small shopping-bags. They had put their veils up over their hats. Archie, thinking of his appearance, was more self-conscious than ever, and his embarrassment did not diminish when one of the women, after Curly had told them something of their plans, looked at the black mark rubbed into Archie’s neck by the prison clothes and said:
"You can’t do nothin’ in them stir clothes." Before he could reply, she got up impulsively.
"Just wait here," she said. She was gone an hour. When she returned, her cheeks were flushed, and with a smile she walked into the room with a peculiar mincing gait that might have passed as some mode of fashion, went to a corner, shook herself, and then, stepping aside, picked from the floor a suit of clothes she had stolen in a store across the bridge and carried in her skirts all the way back. Curly laughed, and the other woman laughed, and they praised her, and then she said to Archie:
"Here, kid, these’ll do. I don’t know as they’ll fit, but you can have ’em altered. They’ll beat them stir rags, anyhow."
Archie tried to thank her, but she laughed his platitudes aside and said: