"Oh! I see; Dago. Seems to me now that this woman was singin' I-taly-an, too." They were nearing the light, and the policeman gazed intently at the hatless young man. "Why, it's Mr. Hillard! I'm surprised. Well, well! Some day I'll run in a bunch o' these chorus leddies, jes' fer a lesson. They git lively at the restaurants over on Broadway, an' thin they raise the dead with their singin', which, often as not, is anythin' but singin'. An' here it is, after one." "But this was not a chorus lady," replied Hillard, thoughtfully reaching into his vest for a cigar. "Sure, an' how do you know?" with renewed suspicions. "The lady had a singing voice." "Huh! They all think alike about that. But mebbe she wasn't bad at the business. Annyhow...." "It was rather out of time and place, eh?" helpfully. "That's about the size of it. This Leddy Lightfinger is a case. She has us all thinkin' on our nights off. Clever an' edjicated, an' jabbers in half a dozen tongues. It's a thousan' to the man who jugs her. But she don't sing; at least, they ain't any report to that effect. Perhaps your leddy was jes' larkin' a bit. But it's got to be stopped." Hillard passed over the cigar, and the policeman bit off the end, nodding with approval at such foresight. The young man then proffered the coal of his pipe and the policeman took his light therefrom, realizing that after such a peace-offering there was nothing for him to do but move on. Yet on dismal lonesome nights, like this one, it is a godsend and a comfort to hear one's own voice against the darkness. So he lingered. "Didn't get a peep at her face?" "Not a single feature. The light was behind her." Hillard tapped one toe and then the other. "An' how was she dressed?" "In fog, for all I could see." "On the level now, didn't you know who she was?" The policeman gave Hillard a sly dig in the ribs with his club. "On my word!" "Some swell, mebbe." "Undoubtedly a lady. That's why it looks odd, why it brought me into the street. She sang in classic Italian. And what's more, for the privilege of hearing that voice again, I should not mind sitting on this cold curb till the milkman comes around in the morning." "That wouldn't be fer long," laughed the policeman, taking out his watch and holding it close to the end of his cigar. "Twenty minutes after one. Well, I must be gittin' back to me beat. An' you'd better be goin' in; it's cold. Good night." "Good night," Hillard responded cheerfully. "Say, what's I-taly-an fer good night?" still reluctant to go on. "_Buona notte._" "Bony notty; huh, sounds like Chinese fer rheumatism. Been to Italy?" "I was born there," patiently. "No! Why, you're no Dago!" "Not so much as an eyelash. The stork happened to drop the basket there, that's all." "Ha! I see. Well, Ameriky is good enough fer me an' mine," complacently. "I dare say!"