4. The gun who is _supposed_ to square it. This grafter has got a bunch of money together and sees a good chance to open a gin-mill, or a Raines Law hotel, or a gambling joint. He knows how to take care of the repeaters, and is handy about election time. In return he gets protection for his illegal business. He is a go-between, and is on good terms with coppers and grafters. He supplies the grafter who has plenty of fall-money with bondsmen, makes his life in the Tombs easy, and gets him a good job while in stir. This man is supposed to be "dead," but he is really very much alive. Often a copper comes to him and asks for the whereabouts of some grafter or other. He will reply, perhaps: "I hear he is in Europe, or in the West." The copper looks wise and imagines he is clever. The "dead" one sneers, and, like a wise man, laughs in his sleeve; for he is generally in communication with the man looked for. 5. The sure-thing grafter. He is a man who continues to steal, but wants above everything to keep out of stir, where he has spent many years. So he goes back to the petty pilfering he did as a boy. General Brace and the Professor belonged to this class of "dead ones." The second night I spent on the Bowery after my return from my second bit I met Laudanum Joe, who is another good example of this kind of "dead one." At one time he made thousands of dollars, but now he is discouraged and nervous. He looked bad (poorly dressed) but was glad to see me. "How is graft?" he asked. "I have left the Rocky Path," I replied, thinking I would throw a few "cons" into him. "I am walking straight. Not in the religious line, either." He smiled, which was tantamount to saying that I lied. "What are you working at?" he asked. "I am looking for a job," I replied. "Jimmy, is it true, that you are pipes (crazy)? I heard you got buggy (crazy) in your last bit." "Joe," I replied, "you know I was never bothered above the ears." "If you are going to carry the hod," he said, "you might as well go to the pipe-house, and let them cure you. Have you given up smoking, too?" he continued. He meant the hop. I conned him again and said: "Yes." He showed the old peculiar, familiar grin, and said: "Say, I have no coin. Take me with you and give me a smoke." I tried to convince him that there was nothing in it, but he was a doubter. "What are _you_ doing, Joe?" I asked. "O, just getting a few shillings," he replied, meaning that he was grafting. "Why don't you give up the booze?" I asked. I had made a break, for he said, quickly: "Why? Because I don't wear a Piccadilly collar?" All grafters of any original calibre are super-sensitive, to a point very near insanity. Laudanum Joe thought I had reference to his dress, which was very bum. "Joe," I said, "I never judge a man by his clothes, especially one that I know."