Of course this was enough for Durkin. They were companionable, fraternal, convivial, and thus traveled about the town together, Lanky introducing his new friend to all his associates as “a fine chip of the old block,” or employing words of a similar significance. Finally, it was with some difficulty that McKenna shook him off, late in the day, and, pleading business as an excuse, left him to finish his spree solitary and alone. Here was another point gained by McKenna. One of the latest signs of recognition of the Sleepers, or of some similar society, was in his possession. But he did not dare to use it, well remembering an unpleasant episode previously occurring to him at Pottsville. On that occasion, having encountered Fenton Cooney, a miner from Wadesville, at Dormer’s, he was spoken of as an ancient Mollie—Cooney being actually what the detective assumed to be, and a sharp one at that. Cooney at once proceeded to test the new-comer, who, fortunately, was acting as though greatly intoxicated. Quickly apprehending that he was no match for the inquirer, from the direction that his questions took, he imbibed a stiff glass of grog at the bar, with his interviewer, and shortly thereafter fell over on a bench and immediately passed into a state of semi-unconsciousness, from which even Dormer himself, by a powerful shaking, failed to arouse him. Cooney was very angry, and told the innkeeper that he had a notion to kick the drunken man—drunk only in simulation—from the house. Dormer proved a friend, and insisted that it was all a mistake; there was no doubt in his mind of the man’s former membership; but he was a victim of liquor—which was his only noticeable failing—and, if taken when duly sober, he had faith that Cooney would recognize him as all he represented himself to be. Some things he had forgotten, it was true, but he remembered enough to satisfy him that he was all right. Cooney, not so easily deluded, roundly swore that he could never believe the stranger a true friend until he produced his clearance card from the body to which he had belonged. Escaping so narrowly from this impending trap, the detective was more careful thereafter. Evidently he must see clearer and travel further before successfully imposing upon well-informed Sleepers. It proved also quite fortunate that he cut adrift from Lanky, as, before night, that besotted individual found himself under arrest for an aggravated assault upon a man who had indiscreetly spoken against the Mollies in his presence. It was the middle of December, 1873, that the detective made his _début_ in the pleasant little town of Girardville. One of the first persons for him to meet was Pat Birmingham, a school-teacher, who addressed him: “Stranger, didn’t I see you, a few days ago, at Dormer’s place, in Pottsville?”