"Sure," said the Bowery boy doggedly, securely mounted now on his favorite hobby horse. "I knows, and youse knows, Mr. Chames. Gee, I wish I'd bin a cop. But I wasn't tall enough. Dey's de fellers wit' de long green in der banks. Look at dis old McEachern. Money to boin a wet dog wit', he's got, and never a bit of woik for it from de start to de finish. An' look at me, Mr. Chames." "I do, Spike, I do." "Look at me. Getting busy all de year round, woiking to beat de band all----" "In prisons oft," said Jimmy. "Dat's right. And chased all roun' de town. And den what? Why, to de bad at de end of it all. Say, it's enough to make a feller----" "Turn honest." said Jimmy. "You've hit it, Spike. You'll be glad some day that you reformed." But on this point Spike seemed to be doubtful. He was silent for a moment; then, as if following upon a train of thoughts, he said: "Mr. Chames, dis is a fine big house." "Splendid!" "Say, couldn't we----" "Spike!" said Jimmy warningly. "Well, couldn't we?" said Spike doggedly. "It ain't often youse butts into a dead-easy proposition like dis one. We shouldn't have to do a t'ing excep' git busy. De stuff's just lying about, Mr. Chames." "I have noticed it." "Aw, it's a waste to leave it." "Spike," said Jimmy, "I warned you of this. I begged you to be on your guard, to fight against your professional instincts; and you must do it. I know it's hard, but it's got to be done. Try and occupy your mind. Collect butterflies." Spike shuffled in gloomy silence. "'Member dose jools we got in de hotel de year before I was copped?" he asked at length irrelevantly. Jimmy finished tying his tie, looked at the result for a moment in the glass, then replied: "Yes, I remember." "We got anudder key dat fitted de door. 'Member dat?" Jimmy nodded. "And some of dose knock-out drops. What's dat? Chloryform? Dat's right. An' we didn't do a t'ing else. An' we lived for de rest of de year on dose jools." Spike paused. "Dat was to de good," he said wistfully. Jimmy made no reply. "Dere's a loidy here," continued Spike, addressing the chest of drawers, "dat's got a necklace of jools what's wort' two hundred thousand plunks." "I know." Silence again. "Two hundred thousand plunks," breathed Spike. "What a necklace!" thought Jimmy. "Keggs told me dat. De old gazebo what hands out de long woids. I could find out where dey're kept dead easy.' "What a king of necklaces!" thought Jimmy. "Shall I, Mr. Chames?" "Shall you what?" asked Jimmy, coming out of his thoughts with a start. "Why, find out where de loidy keeps de jools." "Confound you, Spike! How often am I to tell you that I have done with all that sort of thing forever? I never want to see or touch another stone that doesn't belong to me. I don't want to hear about them. They don't interest me." "Sorry, Mr. Chames. But dey must cop de limit for fair, dose jools. Two hundred t'ousand plunks! What's dat dis side?"