“That's it--you got it. You didn't give me away. Say, I been straight ever since. It's been tough, but I kep' on--I work here three nights in the week and I got another job in a joint on Second Avenue. Say--” he added, glancing furtively over his shoulder. Then finding his suspicions confirmed, and the attention of the group fastened on him, he began to push the broom vigorously, muttering in jerks to Felix: “This ain't no place for ye--git into trouble sure--what yer doin' here?--They're onto ye, or the bunch wouldn't have their heads together--don't make no difference who's here, everybody gits pinched--I can't talk--they'll git wise and fire me.” Felix's lip curled and an amused expression drifted over his face. His jaws set, the muscles forming little ridges about his ears. “I will attend to that later,” he said, in a firm voice. “Keep on with your work.” He shook the ashes from his pipe, resumed his seat, and leaned carelessly forward with his elbows on his thighs, his former protege, now deep in his work, squeezing the wet rag into the bucket, and using the broom where the mud was thickest. When the swabbing-up process brought the man within speaking distance again Felix leaned still further forward and asked: “What sort of a place is this--a restaurant?” The man turned his head. He was again on his knees, and had drawn nearer. He was now wiping the same spot so as to be within reach of Felix's ear. “Downstairs--yes,” he returned in a low voice. “Upstairs--in the rear--across a roof--” He glanced again at the group and stopped. “A gambling house?” “No--a pool-room. That's why I give ye the tip.” Felix ruminated, the man polishing vigorously. “What kind of people come here?” “The kind ye see--and crooks.” “Do you know them all?” “Why not? I been workin' here two months. Had two raids--that's why I posted ye. It's the chop-house game now, with a new deal all around, but they're onto it--so a pal of mine tells me.” Again Felix ruminated. “Women ever come here?” “Oh, yes, up to ten o'clock or so--telephone operators, shop-girls--that kind. Two of 'em are over there now; they work in Cryder's store Christmas and New Year's, and they get taken on extra.” “Any others?” “You mean fancies?” “No--straight, decent women, who may live around here and who come regularly in for their meals.” “Oh, yes--but they don't stay long. And then”--he nodded toward the group--“they don't want 'em to stay--no money in grub. Just a bluff they've put up.” “Have you come across your wife since I saw you?” “No, and don't want to. I've got all over that. A man's a damn fool to get crazy over a woman, and a bigger damn fool to keep worryin' when she goes back on him. They ain't wuth it, none on 'em.” “What became of the man she went off with?” “Got tired and chucked her, after he made a tank of her. That's what they all do.” “Have you ever tried to find her?” “What for?” “You might do her some good.”