The middle-aged man with the shifty eyes spat cautiously, and then, rubbing his stubby chin with a hairy, freckled hand, observed: "Well, young man, I'm Pennold, all right. I do some business with the Brooklyn & Queens people--small business, of course, for we poor honest folk haven't the money to put in finance that the big stock-holders have. I don't know where you can find this man Brunell, haven't heard of him in years, but I understand he went wrong. Ain't that so, Mame?" The hatchet-faced woman nodded her head in slow and non-committal thought. Pennold edged a little nearer his unknown guest and asked in a tone of would-be heartiness. "And what might your name be? You're a bright-looking feller to be a bank-clerk--not the stolid, plodding kind." Morrow chuckled again. "My name is Hicks. I live at 46 Jefferson Place. It's only a little way from here, you know." He swung his lunch-box nonchalantly. "Of course, bank-clerking don't get you anywhere, but it's steady, such as it is, and I go out with the boys a lot." He added confidentially: "The ponies are still running, you know, even if the betting-ring is closed--and there are other ways--" He paused significantly. "I see, a sport, eh?" Pennold darted a quick glance at his wife. "Well, don't let it get the best of you, young feller. Remember what I told you about Jimmy Brunell--at least, what the report of him was. If I hear anything of where he is, I'll let the bank know." "I'll be getting on; I'm late now--" Morrow paused on the bottom step of the little porch and turned. "See you again, Mr. Pennold, and your wife, if you'll let me. I pass by here often--I've been boarding with Mrs. Lindsay, on Jefferson Place, for some time now. By the way, have you seen the sporting page of the _Gazette_ this morning? Al Goetz edits it, you know, and he gives you the straight dope. There'll be nothing to that fight they're pulling off Saturday night at the Zucker Athletic Club--Hennessey'll put it all over Schnabel in the first round. Good-by! If you hear anything of this Brunell, be sure you let me or the bank know!" For a long moment after his buoyant stride had carried him out of sight around the corner, Walter Pennold and his wife sat in thoughtful silence. Then the woman spoke. "What d'ye think of it all, Wally?" "Dunno." The gentleman addressed drew from his pocket a blackened, odoriferous pipe and sucked upon it. "Must be some lay, of course. I'll go up to the bank and find out what I can, but I don't think that young feller, Hicks, is in on it. I've been in the game for forty years, and if I'm a judge, he's no 'tec. Fool kid spendin' more'n he earns and out for what coin he can grab. I'll look up that landlady of his, too, Mame; and if he's on the level there, and at the bank--"