As the first shovelful of earth awoke the hollow responses of the coffin, there occurred what story writers are fond of describing as a dramatic incident. As though the hollow coffin-note had been the dead voice of Casey calling, Dago Frankie knelt at the edge of the grave. Lifting his hands to heaven, he vowed to shed without mercy the blood of Goldie Louie and Brother Bill Orr, on sight. The vow was well received by the uncovered ring of mourners, and no one doubted but Casey's eternal slumbers would be the sounder for it. In the beginning, she went by the name of Leoni; the same being subsequently lengthened, for good and sufficient reasons, to Leoni the Trouble Maker. As against this, however, her monaker, with the addition, “Badger,” as written upon her picture--gallery number 7409--to be found in that interesting art collection maintained by the police, was given as Mabel Grey. Leoni--according to Detective Biddinger of that city's Central Office--was born in Chicago, upon a spot not distant from the banks of the classic Drainage Canal. She came to New York, and began attracting police attention about eight years ago. In those days, radiant as a star, face of innocent beauty, her affections were given to an eminent pickpocket known and dreaded as Crazy Barry, and it was the dance she led that bird-headed person's unsettled destinies which won her the _nom de cour_ of Trouble Maker. It was unfortunate, perhaps, since it led to many grievous complications, that Leoni's love lacked every quality of the permanent. Hot, fierce, it resembled in its intensity a fire in a lumber yard. Also, like a fire in a lumber yard, it soon burned itself out. Her heart was as the heart of a wild goose, and wondrous migratory. Having loved Crazy Barry for a space, Leoni turned cool, then cold, then fell away from him altogether. At this, Crazy Barry, himself a volcano of sensibility, with none of Leoni's saving genius to grow cold, waxed wroth and chafed. While in this mixed and storm-tossed humor, he came upon Leoni in the company of a fellow gonoph known as McTafife. In testimony of what hell-pangs were tearing at his soul, Crazy Barry fell upon McTaffe, and cut him into red ribbons with a knife. He would have cut his throat, and spoke of doing so, but was prevailed upon to refrain by Kid Jacobs, who pointed out the electrocutionary inconveniences sure to follow such a ceremony. “They'd slam youse in th' chair, sure!” was the sober-headed way that Jacobs put it.