“I want a favor,” said Big Kennedy, addressing the Rat, “an' I've got to go to one of the swell mob to get it. That's why I sent for you, d'ye see! It takes someone finer than a bricklayer to do th' work.” The Rat was uneasily questioning my presence with his eye. Big Kennedy paused to reassure him. “He's th' straight goods,” said Big Kennedy, speaking in a tone wherein were mingled resentment and reproach. “You don't s'ppose I'd steer you ag'inst a brace?” The Rat said never a word, but his glance left me and he gave entire heed to Big Kennedy. “This is the proposition,” resumed Big Kennedy. “You know Sheeny Joe. Shadow him; swing and rattle with him no matter where he goes. The moment you see a chance, get a pocketbook an' put it away in his clothes. When th' roar goes up, tell th' loser where to look. Are you on? Sheeny Joe must get th' collar, an' I want him caught with th' goods, d'ye see.” “I don't have to go to court ag'inst him?” said the Rat interrogatively. “No,” retorted Big Kennedy, a bit explosively. “You'd look about as well in th' witness box as I would in a pulpit. No, you shift th' leather. Then give th' party who's been touched th' office to go after Sheeny Joe. After that you can screw out; that's as far as you go.” It was the next evening at the ferry. Suddenly a cry went up. “Thief! Thief! My pocketbook is gone!” The shouts found source in a broad man. He was top-heavy with too much beer, but clear enough to realize that his money had disappeared. The Rat, sly, small, clean, inconspicuous, was at his shoulder. “There's your man!” whispered the Rat, pointing to Sheeny Joe, whose footsteps he had been dogging the livelong day; “there's your man!” In a moment the broad man had thrown himself upon Sheeny Joe. “Call the police!” he yelled. “He's got my pocket-book!” The officer pulled him off Sheeny Joe, whom he had thrown to the ground and now clung to with the desperation of the robbed. “Give me a look in!” said the officer, thrusting the broad man aside. “If he's got your leather we'll find it.” Sheeny Joe was breathless with the surprise and fury of the broad man's descent upon him. The officer ran his hand over the outside of Sheeny Joe's coat, holding him meanwhile fast by the collar. Then he slipped his hand inside, and drew forth a chubby pocketbook. “That's it!” screamed the broad man, “that's my wallet with over six hundred dollars in it! The fellow stole it!” “It's a plant!” gasped Sheeny Joe, his face like ashes. Then to the crowd: “Will somebody go fetch Big John Kennedy? He knows me; he'll say I'm square!” Big Kennedy arrived at the station as the officer, whose journey was slow because of the throng, came in with Sheeny Joe. Big Kennedy heard the stories of the officer and the broad man with all imaginable patience. Then a deep frown began to knot his brow. He waved Sheeny Joe aside with a gesture that told of virtuous indignation.