“Jus' leave word for Miss Tony that Pin--that No. 7, Men's Surgical--is hurted again, but O. K., and could she come and see him, maybe, some day.” She came at once, Pinney the Rat's Miss Tony. She was little and quick and brown and lovely, but not laughing. There was a depth of woe and loss in her big eyes. Let that be my excuse that I did not at once identify her as Eurydice--that and the fact that, as far as I knew, Eurydice was dead and buried these four months and lived only in Orpheus's resolutely self-deluded mind. For Pinney's sake, his visitor summoned up the phantom of past gayety. She shook, first her finger and then her little fist at him, upbraiding him in quaintly accented English, while he lay and visibly worshiped. “You haf sayed that you will go straight. An' now voilà you, wit' your pro-mess broke an' a stick in your estomac.” “Yessum,” said Pinney the Rat. “That learn you something? That learn you to be'ayve?” “Yessum,” assented that murderous gangster like an abashed schoolboy. “You give me your han' now that you be a good boy an' go no more wit' _les Apaches_ an' get you a job?” The Rat's face hardened. He squirmed away from those clear eyes. “I got one little account to square up,” he muttered. “After that if I make my getaway, I'll join the Salvationists if you tell me to. An' say, Miss Tony, you know them cigs you useta gimme? Them with the dinky letters on?” The girl's trembling hand went to her throat. She looked at him strangely. “If I could get a handful o' them,” he continued shyly, “they--I--it'd kinda remind me when--when you ain't here. How's me unknown friend on the outside that useta send'em in?” Miss Tony leaned her head against the wall and burst into a passion of tears. I led her out, still sobbing, while the ex-Men's Surgical No. 7 sat up in his bed and cursed himself with wild, blasphemous, wondering oaths. Whatever surmise our young gangster may have entertained he kept to himself. And, on the following morning, sterner matters claimed his attention, for, while I was out, Orpheus, the Greek, dropped in, and Pinney, once more the Rat, saw the hour of his revenge upon his supposed assailant at hand. For the Greek, forgetful of caution, had seated himself well within arm's length of the patient's couch. Beneath the sheet the Rat clutched the needle-pointed compasses and waited. Should he risk the jump and the stroke? No! He might miss. And he knew, from the memory of the Battle of Our Square, the Greek's swiftness of eye and hand. He must get him nearer. It was a time for strategy. “Hey, sport. Got a smoke on you?” Orpheus drew a box from his pocket, extracted a fattish cylinder, and leaned forward to the other--not quite far enough. “Gimme a light, will ye?” piped the Rat hoarsely, taking the cigarette in his left hand.