The boy stopped and stood waiting until the two men came up. Seaton eyed the strongly hewn face while the officer said, "That person you were with a bit ago, Nucky--I don't think much of her. Better cut her out." "I can't help folks talking to me, can I?" demanded the boy, belligerently. "Especially the ladies!" snorted Foley. "Regular village cut-up, you are! Well, just mind what I say," find he strolled on, followed by Seaton. "He'll never be hung for his beauty," said Seaton. "But, Foley, I'll wager you'll find that lad breeds back to Plymouth Rock!" Foley nodded. "Thought you'd be interested. Every man who's seen him is. But there's nothing doing. Nucky is a hard pill." "Maybe he needs a woman's hand," suggested Seaton, "Sometimes these hard characters are clay with the right kind of a woman." "Or the wrong kind," grunted the officer. "No, the right kind," insisted Mr. Seaton. "I'm telling you, Foley, a good woman is the profoundest influence a man can have. There's a deep within him he never gives over to a bad woman." Foley's keen gray eyes suddenly softened. He looked for a moment above the tree tops to the clouds sailing across the blue. "I guess you're right, Mr. Seaton," he said, "I guess you're right! Well, poor Nucky! And I must be getting back. Good day, Mr. Seaton." "Good day, Foley!" And Nucky, staring curiously from the Square, saw the apartment house door close on the tall, well-dressed stranger, and saw a taxi-cab driver offer a lift to his ancient enemy, Officer Foley. "Thinks he's smart, don't he!" he muttered aloud, starting slowly back toward the Cafe Roma. "I wonder what uplifter he's got after me now?" In the Cafe Roma, Nucky sat down at a little table and ordered a bowl of ministrone with red wine. He did not devour his food as the normal boy of his age would have done. He ate slowly and without appetite. When he was about half through the meal, a young Irishman in his early twenties sat down opposite him. "Hello, Nucky! What's doin'?" "Nothin' worth talking about. What's doin' with you?" "O, I been helping Marty, the Dude, out. He's going to be alderman from this ward, some day." "That's the idea!" cried Nucky. "That's what I'd like to be, a politician. I'd rather be Mayor of N' York than king of the world." "I thought you wanted to be king o' the dice throwers," laughed the young Irishman. "If I was, I'd buy myself the job of Mayor," returned Nucky. "Coming over to-night?" "I might, 'long about midnight. Anything good in sight?" "I hope so," Nucky's hard face looked for a moment boyishly worried. "Business ain't been good, eh?" "Not for me," replied Nucky. "Luigi seems to be goin' to the bank regular. You bet that guy don't risk keepin' nothin' in the house." "I shouldn't think he would with a wonder like you around," said the young Irishman with a certain quality of admiration in his voice.