“There's nothing to it!” he exclaimed almost savagely.     

       “What's that?” she cried, startled.     

       “I tell you there's nothing to it!”      

       “You—you think I can't put it over?”      

       “You can't! And I'm not going to have it!”      

       “Why—why—”      

       Staring, she drew slowly away from him. His face, which a few moments before had been smiling, was now harsh and dominant with decision. She had heard him spoken of as “Laughing Larry”; and also as “Terrible Larry”        whose aroused will none could brook. He looked this latter person now, and she could not understand.     

       But though she could not understand, her own defiant spirit stormed up to fight this unexpected opposition. He didn't believe in her—that was it! He didn't think she was equal to working with him! Her young figure stiffened in angered pride, and her mind was gathering hot phrases to fling at him when the door from the pawnshop began to creak open. Instantly Larry turned toward it, relaxed and yet alert for anything. Old Jimmie and Barney Palmer entered.     

       “Hello, Larry!” cried the old man, crossing. “Welcome to our city!”      

       “Hello, Jimmie. Hello, Barney.” And Larry shook hands with his partners of other days.     

       “Gee, Larry, it's good to see you!” exclaimed the cunning-eyed old man.       “Didn't know you were back till I bumped into Gavegan on Broadway. He told me, and so Barney and I beat it over here to see you. Believe me, Larry, that flatfoot is certainly sore at you!”      

       Larry ignored the last sentence. “Think it exactly wise for you two to come here?”      

       “Why, Larry?”      

       “Gavegan, Casey, the police, may follow, thinking you've come to see me for some purpose. That outfit may act upon suspicion.”      

       Jimmie grinned 

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