"Hello, there's Tony!" exclaimed Spike as they turned into Forty-second Street, "over there--behind the pushcart--th' guy with th' peanuts!" And he pointed where, from amid a throng of vehicles, a gaily painted barrow emerged, a barrow whereon were peanuts unbaked, baked, and baking as the shrill small whistle above its stove proclaimed to all and sundry. It was propelled by a slender, graceful, olive-skinned man, who, beholding Spike, flashed two rows of brilliant teeth and halted his barrow beside the curb. "How goes it, Tony?" questioned Spike, whereat the young Italian smiled, and thereafter sighed and shook his head. "Da beezeneez-a ver' good," he sighed, "da peanut-a sell-a all-a da time! But my lil' Pietro he sick, he no da same since his moder die-a, me no da same--have-a none of da luck--noding--nix!" "Hard cheese, Tony!" quoth Spike. "But say, have you seen th' Spider kickin' around?" "No, I ain't! But you tell-a da Signorina--" "Sure I will--" "My lil' Pietro he love-a da Signorina; me, I love-a her--she so good, so generosa, ah, yes!" And taking off his hat in one hand, Tony kissed the other and waved it gracefully in the air. "Right-o, Tony!" nodded Spike. "You can let it go at that. An' say--this is me friend Geoff." Tony gripped Mr. Ravenslee's hand and shook it. "You one o' da bunch--one o' da boys, hey? Good-a luck." So saying, Tony nodded, flashed his white teeth again, and seizing the handles of his barrow, trundled off his peanut oven, whistling soft and shrill. "Tony's only a guinney," Spike explained as they walked on again. "But he's white, Geoff--'n' say, he's a holy terror in a mix-up! Totes one o' them stiletto knives. I've seen him stab down into a glass full of water an' never spill a drop, which sure wants some doing." Evening was falling, and dismal Tenth Avenue was wrapping itself in shadow, a shadow made more manifest by small lights that burned dismally in small and dingy shops, a shadow, this, wherein moving shadows jostled with lounging shoulder or elbow. As they passed a certain dark entry where divers of these vague shadows lounged, a long arm was stretched thence, and a large hand gripped Spike's shoulder. "Why--hello, Spider," said he, halting. "What's doin'?" "Nawthin' much, Kid--only little M--'say, who's wid you?" "Oh, this is a friend o' mine--Geoff, dis is d' Spider!" explained Spike. Visualised in "the Spider" Ravenslee saw a tall, slender youth, very wide in the shoulder and prodigiously long of arm and leg, and who looked at him keen-eyed from beneath a wide cap brim, while his square jaws worked with untiring industry upon a wad of chewing gum. "Good evening!" said Ravenslee and held out his hand. The Spider ceased chewing for a moment, nodded, and turning to Spike, chewed fiercer than ever. "Where youse goin', Kid?" he enquired, masticating the while. "What was you goin' to tell me, Spider?" demanded Spike, a note of sudden anxiety in his voice. "Nawthin', Kid."