“I doan miss.”
“Sure y get the idea, now?” Uggam carefully explained it all again. By the time he had finished, King Solomon was wallowing in gratitude.
"Mouse, you sho' is been a friend to me. Why, 'f 't hadn' been fo' you—"
“Bottle it,” said Uggam. "I'll be round to your room tonight with enough stuff for to-morrer, see? Be sure 'n be there."
“Won't be nowha' else.”
“An' remember, this is all jess between you 'n me.”
“Nobody else but,” vowed King Solomon.
Uggam grinned to himself as he went on his way. "Dumb Oscar! Wonder how much can we make before the cops nab him? French medicine—Hmph!”
v
Tony Gabrielli, an oblate Neapolitan of enormous equator, wabbled heavily out of his store and settled himself over a soap box.
Usually Tony enjoyed sitting out front thus in the evening, when his helper had gone home and his trade was slackest. He liked to watch the little Gabriellis playing over the sidewalk with the little Levys and Johnsons; the trios and quartettes of brightly dressed, dark-skinned girls merrily out for a stroll; the slovenly gaited, darker men, who eyed them up and down and commented to each other with an unsuppressed “Hot damn!" or "Oh no, now!”
But to-night Tony was troubled. Something was wrong in the store; something was different since the arrival of King Solomon Gillis. The new man had seemed to prove himself honest and trustworthy, it was true. Tony had tested him, as he always tested a new man, by apparently leaving him alone in charge for two or three mornings. As a matter of fact, the new man was never under more vigilant observation than during these two or three mornings. Tony's store was a modifica-
