Sam scratched a match on his trousers and lit an old pipe that he held between his teeth, but as the match flared up and showed his own face a lowering brow, shifty eyes, a swarthy, unkempt visage, sullen and sly, the shifty eyes were not looking at the pipe but up at the face above him which shone out white and fine with its gold halo in the little gleam in the dark court. The watchers crowding at the opening of the passage saw his face, and almost fancied there were soft shadowy wings behind him. It was thus with old Sal’s help that Michael got his name again, “The Angel.” It was thus he became the “angel of the alley.” “Sam!” he said, and his voice was very gentle, although he was perfectly conscious that behind him there were two more shadows of men and more might be lurking in the dark corners. “Sam, if you remember me you will know I couldn’t forget; and I do care. I came back to find you. I’ve always meant to come, all the time I was in college. I’ve had it in mind to come back here and make some of the hard things easier for”—he hesitated, and—“for _us_ all.” “How did yous figger yous was goin’ to do that?” Sam asked, his little shifty eyes narrowing on Michael, as he purposely struck another match to watch the effect of his words. Then Michael’s wonderful smile lit up his face, and Sam, however much he may have pretended to doubt, knew in his deepest heart that this was the same Mikky of old. There was no mistaking that smile. “I shall need you to help me in figuring that out, Sam. That’s why I was so anxious to find you.” A curious grunt from behind Michael warned him that the audience was being amused at the expense of Sam, Sam’s brows were lowering. “Humph!” he said, ungraciously striking a third match just in time to watch Michael’s face. “Where’s yer pile?” “What?” “Got the dough?” “Oh,” said Michael comprehendingly, “no, I haven’t got money, Sam. I’ve only my education.” “An’ wot good’s it, I’d like to know. Tell me those?” “So much good that I can’t tell it all in one short talk,” answered Michael steadily. “We’ll have to get better acquainted and then I hope I can make you understand how it has helped. Now tell me about the others. Where is Buck?” There was a dead silence. “It’s hard to say!” at last muttered Sam irresponsibly. “Don’t you know? Haven’t you any kind of an idea, Sam? I’d so like to hunt him up.” The question seemed to have produced a tensity in the very atmosphere, Michael felt it. “I might, an’ then agin’ I might not,” answered Sam in that tone of his that barred the way for further questions. “Couldn’t you and I find him and—and—help him, Sam? Aunt Sally said he was in trouble.” Another match was scratched and held close to his face while the narrow eyes of Sam seemed to pierce his very soul before Sam answered with an ugly laugh. “Oh, he don’t need none o’ your help, you bet. He’s lit out. You don’t need to worry ’bout Buck, he kin take car’ o’ hisse’f every time.”