See?"
Peggy's reply was to leap nimbly into the machine. But to her horror the
two tramps followed instantly. Jess cowered back in her seat. Her pale
lips moved, but she said nothing.
"Tell yer wot," burst out the man with the club, "you gals give us ten
bones a piece--the money don't mean much to folks like you--an' we'll let
yer go. If not----"
A sudden inspiration came to Peggy--a flash of recollection.
"Why didn't you say that before?" she said cheerfully. "I'll be glad to
give you the money. Wait a minute while I get it out."
She raised the cushion of the front "bucket seat," and dived beneath it
with one hand. The men watched her with greedy, yet suspicious eyes.
"Ain't tryin' ter fool us, are yer?" growled one of them, "'cos ef you
air----"
He raised his club threateningly, just as Peggy's hand withdrew from
beneath the cushion. Something bright flashed in it.
"Look out, Mike. She's got a gun!" shouted one of the men, falling back.
The other whipped a hand amidst his rags and was just about to aim a
pistol, when:
"Phiz-z-z-z-z-z-z-z!"
From the shiny object Peggy held in her hand, a fine stream of some sort
of liquid jetted forcibly.
The fellow with the gun threw his hands up to his face, and dropping the
pistol, staggered back with a howl of agony. The other darted off without
even looking at him.
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