I went with him to his home, which was in a tenement house in the lower part of the first ward. He introduced me to his wife and children and a number of dips, burglars and strong-armed men who made his place a kind of rendezvous. We talked old times and graft, and the wife and little boy of eight years old listened attentively. The boy had a much better chance to learn the graft than I had when a kid, for my father was an honest man. The three strong-arm men (highwaymen) were a study to me, for they were Westerners, with any amount of nerve. One of them, Denver Red, a big powerful fellow, mentioned a few bits he had done in Western prisons, explained a few of his grafts and seemed to despise New York guns, whom he considered cowardly. He said the Easterners feared the police too much, and always wanted to fix things before they dared to graft. I told them a little about New York State penitentiaries, and then Ted said to Denver Red: "What do you think of the big fellow?" Denver grinned, and the others followed suit, and I heard the latest story. A well-known politician, leader of his district, a cousin of Senator Wet Coin; a man of gigantic stature, with the pleasing name, I will say, of Flower, had had an adventure. He is even better developed physically than mentally, and virtually king of his district, and whenever he passes by, the girls bow to him, the petty thief calls him "Mister" and men and women alike call him "Big Flower." Well, one night not long before the gathering took place in Teddy's house, Big Flower was passing through the toughest portion of his bailiwick, humming ragtime, when my new acquaintances, the three strong-arm workers from the West, stuck him up with cannisters, and relieved him of a five carat diamond stud, a gold watch and chain and a considerable amount of cash. The next day there was consternation among the clan of the Wet Coins, for Big Flower, who had been thus nipped, was their idol. We all laughed heartily at the story, and I went home and to sleep. The next day I found it a very easy thing to drift back to my old haunts. In the evening I went to a sporting house on Twenty-seventh Street, where a number of guns hung out. I got the glad hand and an invitation to join in some good graft. I said I was done with the Rocky Path. They smiled and gently said: "We have been there, too, Jim." One of them added: "By the way, I hear you are up against the hop, Jim." It was Billy, and he invited me home with him. There I met Ida, as pretty a little shop girl as one wants to see. Billy said there was always an opening for me, that times were pretty good. He and Ida had an opium layout, and they asked me to take a smoke. I told them my nerves were not right, and that I had quit. "Poor fellow," said Billy.