“All right. But first I’ll take all you have in the house,” I said. “You’ve got to let me pay off the little fellows,” he said. “I’ll give you back what you put up, and anything that’s left. Wait till I cash the other tickets.” So I waited while he paid off the winners. Oh, I knew my money was safe. Teller wouldn’t welsh with the office doing such a good business. And if he did, what else could I do better than to take all he had then and there? I got my own two thousand dollars and about eight hundred dollars besides, which was all he had in the office. I told him I’d be there Monday morning. He swore the money would be waiting for me. I got to Hoboken a little before twelve on Monday. I saw a fellow talking to the manager that I had seen in the St. Louis office the day Teller told me to go back to Dolan. I knew at once that the manager had telegraphed to the home office and they’d sent up one of their men to investigate the story. Crooks don’t trust anybody. “I came for the balance of my money,” I said to the manager. “Is this the man?” asked the St. Louis chap. “Yes,” said the manager, and took a bunch of yellow backs from his pocket. “Hold on!” said the St. Louis fellow to him and then turns to me, “Say, Livingston, didn’t we tell you we didn’t want your business?” “Give me my money first,” I said to the manager, and he forked over two thousands, four five-hundreds and three hundreds. “What did you say?” I said to St. Louis. “We told you we didn’t want you to trade in our place.” “Yes,” I said; “that’s why I came.” “Well, don’t come any more. Keep away!” he snarled at me. The private policeman in gray came over, casual-like. St. Louis shook his fist at the manager and yelled: “You ought to’ve known better, you poor boob, than to let this guy get into you. He’s Livingston. You had your orders.” “Listen, you,” I said to the St. Louis man. “This isn’t St. Louis. You can’t pull off any trick here, like your boss did with Belfast Boy.” “You keep away from this office! You can’t trade here!” he yells. “If I can’t trade here nobody else is going to,” I told him. “You can’t get away with that sort of stuff here.” Well, St. Louis changed his tune at once. “Look here, old boy,” he said, all fussed up, “do us a favor. Be reasonable! You know we can’t stand this every day. The old man’s going to hit the ceiling when he hears who it was. Have a heart, Livingston!” “I’ll go easy,” I promised. “Listen to reason, won’t you? For the love of Pete, keep away! Give us a chance to get a good start. We’re new here. Will you?”