"Cheer up, Cutey!" pipes Scanlan. "They can't hang a guy for tryin'!"
Harold retrieves his hat, smoothes it out carefully and lets loose the gloomiest sigh I ever heard in my life.
"Have you a cigarette?" he asks sadly.
The Kid pulls out a deck, and Harold takes two, droppin' one in his pocket.
"Alas!" he remarks, strikin' a match on my shoe. "Alas!"
"When can the body be seen?" asks Scanlan. "And is it a church funeral or will they pull it off at the house?"
"This is no time for levity," mutters Harold. "I'm ruined!"
"I only got ten bucks with me," the Kid tells him, "but I'll part with—"
"Poof!" sneers Harold, wavin' his hands like a head waiter. "Money! I am not in need of that. Why, my father—" He breaks off to take the bill from the Kid's hand and shove it in his pocket. "Rather than offend you!" he explains. "No," he goes on, "this is a more serious matter than money. I—" He flicks away the cigarette, jumps up off the rock and gives us both the up and down. "I am going to take you two into my confidence," he says, "and perhaps you will help me."
"Go on!" encourages the Kid. "I'm all worked up—shoot it!"