“For who,” said the general voice, “would face and fight a white-hot poker?” On the whole, public sentiment was inclined to sustain Louie in that second-storey jump. From what has been written, it will not astonish you to hear that, upon the important matter of courage, Louie's place in society had not been absolutely fixed. Some said one thing, some another. There are game men in Gangland; and there exist others who aren't the real thing. Sardinia Frame believes, with the Irish Wop, that Louie belonged in the latter class. Also, Sardinia Frank is entitled to an opinion. For he was born in Mulberry Bend, and has himself been tried twice on charges of murder. It was Sardinia Frank, by the way, who smote upon Eat-'em-up Jack with that effective lead pipe, albeit, there being no proof, he was never arrested for it. No, he doesn't admit it, even among intimates and where such admission would be respected as sacred. But when joked concerning it, he has ever worn a cheerful, satisfied look--like the pictures of the cat that ate the canary--and while careful not to accept, was equally careful not to reject, the compliment implied. Moreover, when the dead Eat-'em-up-Jack was picked up, the lead pipe used to break his skull had been tucked jocosely under his arm. It was clear to knowing ones that none except Sardinia Frank would have thought of such a jest. To him it would have come readily enough, since death always appealed to his sense of humor. Clad in a Tuxedo and an open-face suit, Sardinia Frank, at the time I questioned him, was officiating as peace-preserver in the Normandie rathskeller. By way of opener, I spoke of his mission on the rathskeller earth. “I'm here to keep out everybody I know,” said he simply. There was a pathetic side to this which, in his ingenuousness, Frank failed wholly to remark. “About Indian Louie?” I at last said. It was within an hour after Louie had been killed. “I'll tell youse about Louie,” returned Frank. “Of course, he's dead, an' lyin' on a slab in th' morgue right now. They 'phoned me woid ten minutes ago. But that don't make no difference. He was a bluff; he wasn't th' goods. He went around wit' his hat over his eyes, bulldozin' everybody he could, an' lettin' on to be a hero. An' he's got what heroes get.” “Did you ever get tangled up with him?” I asked. “Let me show you,” and Frank became confidential. “This'll give youse a line. One time he's got two hundred bones. Mollie Squint climbs into a yap-wagon an' touches a rube for it. Louie takes it, an' plants it wit' Nigger Mike. That's about six months ago. Th' next night, me bein' wise to it, I chases to Mike an' says, 'Louie's over to Jigger's, pointin' stuss, an' he wants th' two hundred.' So Mike hands me th' dough. I splits it five ways wit' th' gang who's along, each of us gettin' his little old bit of forty dollars apiece.