I didn't think about Wino Jones or Stanley again till the first of the next week. Then I was on early shift at the paper, due in at six A.M. At quarter to, I yawned my way out of Mad Miguel's after coffee, an egg and hotcakes. Mig's hotcakes were hot, too; made them with chili. Hard on the stomach, but they popped the old eyelids open in the morning. As I stood a minute in the doorway, my watering eyes spotted Wino Jones coming out of the alley that led around to Mig's kitchen side. He saw me but, thoughtfully, didn't crack till I gave him a, considering the time, reasonably bright hello. "How's it, Ed? You going on early, uh?" "Yeah, Wino--ah--Jonesy. Mind if I call you Jonesy?" He didn't. "What's with you? Been washing a dish for the Mig?" He nodded. Some of the upper-level boys from the row worked off and on at odd jobs like that. It didn't make Jones unique, but it made him stand out a little. "Me and Stanley, we like a little change in our pockets. Right, Stanley?" He looked down and a little to one side, just as though he were asking agreement from someone. Only there wasn't anyone there. There wasn't anyone in sight on the block but Jones and me. * * * * * But Jones smiled and nodded warmly at the short vacancy beside him and then looked back at me. "Stanley here, he come by to meet me after work. Mr. Mig, he let me fix us a bite of breakfast when I finish up the night." I looked again at where Stanley was supposed to be standing and then, blankly, back at Jones. He shrugged almost unnoticeably and, I thought, barely shook his head. "Well-l--" he said, "I expect me and Stanley better drift back on down to the Yard before some fuzz comes along and fans us down." "Yeah?" I said. "Yeah. So long, Jonesy--Stanley." I don't know why I added the "Stanley" but, obscurely, it seemed to please Jones. He gave me a big smile and then walked off down the street, chatting companionably to--no one. I didn't get it. Well, Stanley present or absent rated very low on the list of the problems I was going to worry about. I went to work. I ran into Jones every morning during the week I was on early; Jones, coming off work, with Stanley--who wasn't there. Odd, sure. But if Jones was stringing a way-out gag or playing with a mild hallucination, still it was nothing to me. I did mention it to Mig, who only said, "Si, these one big hombre eat big. He like two plate eat for breakfast, plate he wash, bueno, what for I complain?" So that was all. Nothing. Toward the end of the next week, I wandered down to the Yard again and joined the little group of exponents of gracious almost-living by the wall. Jones wasn't there. But as I was settling down I glanced over at the Broad Street side of the square and I saw him strolling along toward us. He was smiling, talking, gesturing. He was alone. I looked twice. There was no one with Jones.