the Park any more. You can pitch your moving tent with me."
"What, here, boss?"
"Unless we move."
"Me fer dis," said Spike, rolling luxuriously in his chair.
"You'll want some clothes," said Jimmy. "We'll get those to-morrow. You're the sort of figure they can fit off the peg. You're not too tall, which is a good thing."
"Bad t'ing fer me, boss. If I'd been taller, I'd have stood fer being a cop, an' bin buyin' a brownstone house on Fifth Avenue by dis. It's de cops makes de big money in little old Manhattan, dat's who it is."
"The man who knows!" said Jimmy. "Tell me more, Spike. I suppose a good many of the New York force do get rich by graft?"
"Sure. Look at old man McEachern."
"I wish I could. Tell me about him, Spike, You seemed to know him pretty well."
"Me? Sure. Dere wasn't a woise old grafter dan him in de bunch. He was out fer de dough all de time. But, say, did youse ever see his girl?"
"What's that?" said Jimmy, sharply.
"I seen her once." Spike became almost lyrical in his enthusiasm. "Gee! She was a boid—a peach fer fair. I'd have left me happy home fer her. Molly was her monaker. She—"
Jimmy was glaring at him.
