Somewhere in the eighties, before I went to stir, there was a synagogue at what is now 101 Hester Street. The synagogue was on the first floor, and on the ground floor was a gin-mill, run by an ex-Central Office man. Many pickpockets used to hang out there, and they wanted to drive the Jews out of the first floor, so that they could lay out a faro game there. So they swore and carried on most horribly on Saturdays, when the rabbi was preaching, and finally got possession of the premises. Only a block away from this old building was a famous place for dips to get "books", in the old days. Near by was Ridley's dry-goods store, in which there were some cash-girls who used to tip us off to who had the books, and were up to the graft themselves. They would yell "cash" and bump up against the sucker, while we went through him. The Jews were few in those days, and the Irish were in the majority. On the corner of Allen and Hester Streets stood the saloon of a well-known politician. Now a Jew has a shop there. Who would think that an Isaacs would supersede a Finnigan? At the gin-mill on Hester Street, I used to know a boy dip named Buck. When I got back from my second bit I found he had developed into a box-man, and had a peculiar disposition, which exists outside, as well as inside, Graftdom. He had one thousand eight hundred dollars in the bank, and a fine red front (gold watch and chain), but he was not a good fellow. He used to invite three or four guns to have a drink, and would order Hennessy's brandy, which cost twenty cents a glass. After we had had our drinks he would search himself and only find perhaps twenty cents in his clothes. He got into me several times before I "blew". One time, after he had ordered drinks, he began the old game, said he thought he had eighteen dollars with him, and must have been touched. Then he took out his gold watch and chain and threw it on the bar. But who would take it? I went down, of course, and paid for the drinks. When we went out together, he grinned, and said to me: "I pity you. You will never have a bank account, my boy." The next time Buck threw down his watch and said he would pay in the morning, I thought it was dirt, for I knew he had fifty dollars on him. So I said to the bartender: "Take it and hock it, and get what he owes you. This chump has been working it all up and down the line. I won't be touched by the d---- grafter any more." Buck was ready witted and turning to the bartender, said: "My friend here is learning how to play poker and has just lost eighteen dollars. He is a dead sore loser and is rattled."