The phantasmagoria of Houston Street was spread before them again. Here was Christmas shopping of the humbler sort. End to end the push-carts extended along the curb lighted by smoky kerosene flares and displaying an amazing variety of wares from sets of "genuine imitation ermine furs" down to apples pickled in brine. The pavement was literally packed, largely by reason of the fat shoppers who took up the room of three or four. Coming towards them they perceived a stir of excitement in the throng. A big policeman was slowly forcing his way through, presumably urging before him some unfortunate they could not see. In the policeman's wake was a struggling procession of those who were trying to get a look. The quality of excitement in their faces suggested that the affair was something out of the common. As Greg and Hickey passed abreast of the policeman the crowd opened for a moment, and they had a brief glimpse of the man he had in charge. They saw the slight and sagging figure of a young man with small features. His face was greenish; he shambled along with eyes half-closed. His hat was gone, and to their surprise they saw that his clothes were drenched. They were near the river. "A would-be suicide," said Greg. "Poor devil!" An odd little grunt escaped from Hickey, and he brought the cab to a stop with a jerk. "What's up?" asked Greg. "That--that face," stammered Hickey. "What of it?" "I've been looking for it for three days by your orders. That's the fellow with the little black mustache, who hired me on the pier that night." Greg was effectually galvanized into action. Slipping out of his seat, he said: "Turn the first corner to the right, and wait for me in the side street. I'll look after him. He doesn't know me." Greg ran down the roadway until he got in advance of the policeman; then forcing his way through the crowd, who gave way before his determined air, he fronted the officer. "Beg pardon, officer. I think I know this man. What's he done?" Greg's good clothes and assured air were not without their effect. The policeman was disposed to be complaisant. "Attempted suicide. Jumped off a Houston Street ferry, he did. A deckhand pulled him out." The crowd, delighted to receive exact information as to the affair, waited open-mouthed for more. The prisoner glanced at Greg with indifferent, lack-luster eyes. He said nothing. "He's soaking wet," said Greg. "And at this time of year----" "I'm keeping him walking," said the blue-coat. "And the station is but a block away. We'll give him blankets there." Greg fell into step beside the policeman. "Poor devil! Are you obliged to lay a charge against him?" "They always do. Attempted suicide's a crime." "But nobody's ever sent to jail for it." "If I let him go he might try it again." "Four days to Christmas, officer. Let me take care of him. I'll give him a square meal and a bed. I've got a cab around the corner. I'll take him home in that."