Joe said, gloomily: “I need a drink!” “What’s the matter, old fel’?” asked Harry. Joe, observing the spring of eager malice in his eyes, thought: He’s a smart fellow; but I’m smarter. I can play on him like the piano. I can surround him all about, and be ready for him to move in any direction! Joe said: “You’ve got me in a hole, that’s what!” “I?” said Harry, opening his china blue eyes, candid for once in his astonishment. Joe chuckled inwardly; and looking Harry over, made him wait for the explanation. Harry was a young man, but not so young as he looked. He made a business of being a young man. He was slender; yet somehow he gave the impression of being soft and plump. A dimple in one cheek contributed to that effect. From the neck up he had a naked look, though his head was furnished with a sufficient quantity of hair. It was one of those heads of hair that suggest a wig. He even had a small, stiff mustache, every hair of which was laid in order. Just the same his face had a naked look. “How could I get you in a hole?” he asked. “I been talkin’ too much about you up at the flat,” said Joe. “About our gettin’ to be friends, and goin’ around together, and all.” “Has she told _him_?” asked Harry sharply. “Nah! That kid is wise. She don’t tell the old man anything but what he wants to hear.” “What’s the trouble then?” Joe scowled. “Aah! She wants me to bring you up there while the old man’s out of town.” Harry quickly lowered his lids—not so quickly, though, but that Joe perceived what was under them. It was funny! Harry of course, was out of his mind with curiosity concerning the flat on Fifty-Eighth street, and it’s occupant. “Well . . . why not?” said Harry with a shrug. “Good God! man!” cried Joe. “Suppose the old man got on to it?” “Why should he get on to it, if the girl is on the level with us?” “Suppose she was to get stuck on you?” said Joe. “Where would I be?” Harry fiddled among the papers on his desk. “Oh, you can leave that to me,” he said with a laugh. “I’m not going to let her . . . I might ask you the same question. Where would _I_ be if she did?” “I don’t see how you could help yourself,” said Joe. “If you attempted to discourage her, it would only make her worse. I tell you frankly, after a certain point _I_ can’t handle her.” “What did she say?” Harry asked, keeping his face averted from Joe—but Joe marked the deepening dimple. “Said she was bored, seeing nobody but the old man and me.” “Well . . . you’re not old,” suggested Harry. “Oh, I’m like her brother,” said Joe. “We scrap all the time.” “I mean, what did she say about me?” “Said if I didn’t bring you up, she’d come down here.” “So this has been going on some time?” “Oh, a couple of weeks.” “Well . . . it’s up to you,” said Harry. “You’re running that show.” “Do you want to come?” asked Joe.