He scowled at his reflection in the glass. "You've been a bad lot, my son," he said. "There's only one thing in your favor; and that is the fact that you've cut it all out for keeps. We must be content with that." There was a furtive rap at the door. "Hullo?" said Jimmy. "Yes?" The door opened slowly. A grin, surmounted by a mop of red hair, appeared round the edge of it. "Well, Spike. Come in. What's the matter?" The rest of Mr. Mullins entered the room. "Gee, Mr. Chames, I wasn't sure dat dis was your room. Say, who do youse t'ink I nearly bumped me coco ag'in out in de corridor? Why, old man McEachern, de cop. Dat's right!" "Yes?" "Sure. Say, what's he doin' on dis beat? Youse c'u'd have knocked me down wit' a bit of poiper when I see him. I pretty near went down and out. Dat's right. Me heart ain't got back home yet." "Did he recognize you?" "Sure! He starts like an actor on top de stoige when he sees he's up against de plot to ruin him, an' he gives me de fierce eye." "Well?" "I was wondering was I on Third Avenue, or was I standing on me coco, or what was I doin', anyhow. Den I slips off and chases meself up here. Say, Mr. Chames, can _youse_ put me wise? What's de game? What's old man McEachern doin' stunts dis side for?" "It's all right, Spike. Keep calm. I can explain. Mr. McEachern owns the house." "On your way, Mr. Chames! What's dat?" "This is his house we're in, now. He left the force three years ago, came over here, and bought this place. And here we are again, all gathered together under the same roof, like a jolly little family party." Spike's open mouth bore witness to his amazement. "Den all dis----" "Belongs to him? That's it. We are his guests, Spike." "But what's he goin' to do?" "I couldn't say. I'm expecting to hear shortly. But we needn't worry ourselves. The next move's with him. If he wants to say anything about it, he must come to me." "Sure. It's up to him," agreed Spike. "I'm quite comfortable. Speaking for myself, I'm having a good time. How are you getting on downstairs?" "De limit, Mr. Chames. Honest, I'm on pink velvet. Dey's an old gazebo, de butler, Keggs his name is, dat's de best ever at handing out long woids. I sit and listen. Dey calls me Mr. Mullins down dere," said Spike, with pride. "Good. I'm glad you're all right. There's no reason why we shouldn't have an excellent time here. I don't think that Mr. McEachern will turn us out, after he's heard one or two little things I have to say to him. Just a few reminiscences of the past which may interest him. I have the greatest affection for Mr. McEachern, though he did club me once with his night stick; but nothing shall make me stir from here for the next week at any rate." "Not on your life," agreed Spike. "Say, Mr. Chames, he must have got a lot of plunks to buy dis place. And I know how he got dem, too. Dat's right. I comes from old New York meself." "Hush, Spike, this is scandal!"