Well, I'm havin' the time of my life kiddin' Alex, when one day as we are walkin' along Third Avenue in search of his prey, he grabs me by the arm, yells, "I got him!" and starts across the street on the run. They is a big truck standin' there and a husky on the back of it is engaged in coaxin' pig iron off of it on to the street. He stood about six foot three without bein' shaved and weighed accordingly, all bone and muscle not countin' his head. He turns around and--Oh, boy!!!! Say! I seen some good lookers in my time, male and female, but this baby had it on 'em all! His hair is that black, wavy kind that the cabaret hounds wish they had and he's got a skin like a week old baby. He must of painted his teeth with enamel twice a day and he's there with a pair of eyelashes that would make a chorus girl take carbolic. On the level, he's so handsome he don't look real--and that with all the signs of honest toil at the truck on him, too! Alex taps him on the shoulder and he swings around. "What's yours?" he growls. "I have come to make your fortune," announces Alex with a grin. Then he turns to me. "Ain't he a peach, hey?" he says. The big guy drops the pig iron and looks from Alex to me. "What kinda stuff is this?" he growls. "What d'ye mean I'm a peach?" "You are the luckiest man in New York," says Alex. "I have come to make you famous and rich!" The big guy grins. "Listen!" he says. "They're awful tough on hop fiends in this burg now and they'll be a copper along in a minute, so you better duck. I know you guys is no less than J. P. Morgan and John D. Rockefeller, if not more, and you'll gimme a million dollars in nickels if I'll tell you where to get a layout. But I ain't got the time, I gotta get this stuff off here and--" With that he turns around and goes to work again. "Drop that iron!" says Alex. "You'll never soil your hands with manual labor again." "Hey!" snarls the big guy. "Git away, will you? I always feel sorry for you dope fiends, but if you guys don't lay off me, I'll bounce the two of you. Now, beat it!" "Well," I says to Alex, "he's ignorant anyways. We got that part all settled and--" "Look here!" says Alex, darin'ly grabbin' the big guy by the arm. "We're neither dope fiends nor maniacs. I want to ask you a few questions and, if your answers suit me, I'll hire you for a hundred dollars a week to do special work for me. To show you I'm not foolin', take this for your trouble whether we do business or not." With that he hands him a twenty dollar bill. "Aha!" yells the big guy. "Coupla counterfeiters, hey?" He snatches the bill and grabs Alex. "So you guys want me to pass this for you--I got it!" He starts to drag Alex along the pavement and half Third Avenue stops to watch it. "I'll git a reward for this!" I heard him mutter. Alex throws him off--he's stronger than he looks.