I settled down, took a drag or two on a smoke and passed it along. Lifted a jug. Got back the old lost, gone, miserable feel of the thing again. I looked up then at Jones who was just coming around the mangy clump of bushes by the path. With him was a sour, whispy, scarcely noticeable little man. Stanley. "Evening, Jonesy," I said, "and Stanley. Good to see you again." I meant it even though, come to think, it didn't really clear anything up. Jones gave me his smile and Stanley nodded suspiciously. They moved in and joined the group. Somebody made a run; a couple. The talk staggered around as usual. Topics: booze; money, yesterday's and tomorrow's; booze; women--only occasionally and with mild, decayed interest; booze. Jones put in a soft word or two from time to time until he finally stood up, stretched and said he was going up to Mig's. Stanley stayed. I know he did. I watched him. Afterward, I tried to remember if he said anything, but that I couldn't recall. I went on home myself a while after Jones left. Stanley was still there, though, when I glanced back from Broad Street, I couldn't pick him out in the dim moon and street light. Still nothing much, eh? * * * * * The next week I came on work at ten and I didn't see Jones--or not see Stanley--all week. Friday, I was back down at the Yard. That was out of my pattern. Usually one visit in a month or so was plenty. But now, for whatever reason, I was getting kind of interested in Jones--and Stanley. This time Jones was there hunkered down against the wall when I wandered up. Coaster Joe squatted on one side of him. On the other side, no one. I looked; I looked close. There was no one there. Still, when I nodded around, I nodded at the empty space. Noticed that Bootnose Bailey was missing. A mild surprise. Bootnose and a bottle were nearly as much Yard fixtures as Gen. Scott in bronze and pigeons. I settled in. A little time and a jug went by. I still didn't see Stanley. My curiosity finally insisted on a remark. "Jonesy, I--haven't seen Stanley tonight." Jones smiled, not quite as easy and relaxed as usual. "Stanley isn't around tonight. He went someplace." "Oh? Well, that's good." It seemed a safe statement. If Stanley had been in jail, Jones would have said so. Any other place was bound to be better. I was being unjustifiably nosy, but curiosity wouldn't let me drop it. "Where did he go?" Jones shrugged. Then, seriously, "To tell the truth, Ed, I don't rightly know. Fact is, I been a mite worried about old Stanley lately." No one else was paying any attention to us. "So? How's that?" "Well--" He shrugged again and then made a decision. "You know, Ed, it's a sort of a odd thing about Stanley. If you have a little time...?" "Time is what I have." Jones sighed. "It might turn out to be a problem, I think. Bothers me some. It would be a kindness if you would let me talk to you about it."