“Er ef you want to go it one better, keep on yer good cloes an’ have the asthma bad. I know a feller what’ll teach you how, an’ sell you the whistles to put in yer mouth. You’ve no notion how it works. You just go around in the subbubs tellin’ thet you’ve only been out of the ’orspittal two days an’ you walked all this way to get work an’ couldn’t get it, an’ you want five cents to get back—see? Why, I know a feller—course he’s been at it fer years an’ he has his regular beats—folks don’t seem to remember—and be can work the ground over ’bout once in six months er so, and he’s made’s high’s thirty-eight dollars in a day at asthma work.” Sam paused triumphant to see what effect the statement had on his friend, but Michael’s face was toward his coffee cup. “Seems sort of small business for a man!” he said at last, his voice steady with control. “Don’t believe I’d be good at that? Haven’t you got something that’s real _work_?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Ef I thought you was up to it,” he murmured. “You’d be great with that angel face o’ yourn. Nobody’d ever suspect you. You could wear them clo’es too. But it’s work all right, an’ mighty resky. Ef I thought you was up to it—” He continued to look keenly at Michael, and Michael, with innate instinct felt his heart beat in discouraged thumps. What new deviltry was Sam about to propose? “You used to be game all right!” murmured Sam interrogatively. “You never used to scare easy—” “Wal, I’ll tell you,” in answer to Michael’s questioning eyes which searched his little sharp wizened face—Michael was wondering if there was anything in that face to redeem it from utter repulsiveness. “You see it’s a reg’ler business, an’ you hev to learn, but I’d give you pinters, all you’d need to know, I’m pretty slick myself. There’s tools to open things, an’ you hev to be ready to ’xplain how you come thur an’ jolly up a parlor maid per’aps. It’s easy to hev made a mistake in the house, er be a gas man er a plumber wot the boss sent up to look at the pipes. But night work’s best pay after you get onto things. Thur’s houses where you ken lay your han’s on things goin’ into the thousands an’ lots ov um easy to get rid of without anybody findin’ out. There’s Buck he used to be great at it. He taught all the gang. The day he lit out he bagged a bit o’ glass wuth tree tousand dollars, ’sides a whole handful of fivers an’ tens wot he found lyin’ on a dressin’ table pretty as you please. Buck he were a slick one at it. He’d be pleased to know you’d took up the work—” Sam paused and eyed Michael with the first friendly gleam he had shown in his eyes, and Michael, with his heart in a tumult of varied emotions, and the quick color flooding brow and cheek, tried to hold himself in check. He must not speak too hastily. Perhaps he had not understood Sam’s meaning. “Where is Buck?” Michael looked Sam straight in the eye. The small pupils seemed to contract and shut out even his gaze.