“I wouldn't have thought it of the Doc,” was the pensive comment of Rice. He had exalted the Doc, because of his book learning, and groaned to see his idol fall. “No, I wouldn't have guessed it of him! Of course, it's different wit' a doll. They'd double-cross their own mothers.” Over in Catherine Street at number Nineteen the Doc was teaching May how to cook opium. The result fell below the Doc's elevated notions. “You aren't to be compared with Lulu,” he complained, as he trimmed the peanut-oil lamp. “All Chinatown couldn't show Lulu's equal for cooking hop. She had a genius for it.” The Doc took the needle from May, and cooked for himself. May looked discouraged and hurt. “It's all right,” said the Doc, dreamily, replying to the look of injury. “You'll get it right in time, dear. Only, of course, you'll never quite equal Lulu; that would be impossible.” The Doc twirled the little ball of opium in the flame of the lamp, watching the color as it changed. May looked on as upon the labors of a master. “I'll smoke a couple of pipes,” vouchsafed the Doc; “then I must get to work on Nigger Mike's, teeth. Mike's a good fellow; they're all good fellows over at the Chatham Club,” and the Doc sank back upon the pallet. There was the sound of someone in the hall. Then came those calmative four rings and four taps. “That's Mike now,” said the Doc, his eyes half closed. “Let him in; I suppose he's come for his teeth. I'll have to give him a stand-off. Mike ought to have two sets of teeth. Then he could wear the one while I'm fixing the other. It's a good idea; I'll tell him.” May, warned by some instinct, opened the door but a timorous inch. What she saw did not inspire confidence, and she tried with all her little strength to close and bolt it. Too late! The door was flung inward, and Jackeen, followed by Rice, entered the room. They paid no heed to the opium fumes; almost stifling they were, but Jackeen and Rice had long been used to them. May gazed at Jackeen like one planet-struck. The Doc, moveless on the pallet, hardly raised his opium-weighted lids. “This is a fine game I'm gettin'!” Jackeen sneered out the words. The Doc pulled tranquilly at his pipe; while May stood voiceless, staring with scared eyes. “I'd ought to peg a bullet into you,” continued Jackeen, addressing May. He had drawn his heavy gun. May stood as if the sight of the weapon had frozen her. Jackeen brought it down on her temple. The Doc never moved. Peace--the peace of the poppy--was on his brow and in his heart. May fell to the floor, her face a-reek with blood. “Now you've got yours!” said Jackeen. May struggled unsteadily to her feet, and began groping for the door. “That ought to do youse till I get back,” was Jackeen's good-by. “You'll need a few stitches for that.” Unruffled, untroubled, the Doc drew blandly at the mouthpiece of the pipe. Jackeen surveyed him. “Go on!” cried Rice; “hand it to him, if you're goin' to!”