"What's this mean ?" And then Clarie Deane laughed in a low, brutal way.
"Wot d'ye think it means?
We want that paper, an' we want it damn quick--see! D'ye think we was goin' ter stand fer havin' a trip ter Sing Sing an' the wire chair danglin' over our heads!" Stangeist closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, something of the old-time craftiness was in his face.
"Well, what are you going to do about it ?" he inquired, almost sharply.
"You know what will happen to you, if anything happens to me." "Don't youse kid yerself!" retorted Clarie Deane.

"D'ye think we're fools?
This ain't like it was yesterday--see! We GETS the paper this time--so there won't nothin' happen to us.

You come across with it blasted quick now, or The Mope'll give you another on the bean that'll put you to sleep fer keeps!" The blood was running down Stangeist's face.

He wiped it away from his eyes.
"It's not here," he said innocently.