"I was leaning against this wery fence thinking, when I look over and see you down there," said the ragged one. "Your white face was looking straight up at me. First-off I thought I had 'em again! But you never see no men when you have 'em--on'y squeezy things. So I goes down to have a look. It was only by accident I happened to be here. I was on my way down to Washington Street, but it was early and I stopped to think. If you get down to Washington Street when the commission houses open you get lots of things; an old salt fish maybe, or a grape fruit that's half good, or a cabbage with a good place in it. The salt fish is the best. It gives you a peach of a thirst. Then I follow the brewery wagon on its rounds, and get the drips when they bring the empty kegs up from the cellar. But it's too late now. All the boys will be there before me." Greg felt of his pocket. "I've got money," he said. "I'll blow you to a regular square meal." The other with a nod accepted this as no more than his due. "Of course I could have rolled you before you come to," he reminded Greg, "but I'm on the level, I am. Anybody will tell you Danbury Joe is on the level. Danbury Joe, that's me." He went on to recite his personal history in a lyrical tone that suggested the oft-repeated tale. "I used to be a hat manufacturer in a hat town, a millionaire. Yes, sir, I sported a dicer and opened wine with the best of them. I had a house with ten rooms and a pair of iron deer on the front lawn, and my lovely daughter was educated in Yewrup, yes sir, it's the truth. But she run away and married a grocer salesman and it broke the old man's heart. He ain't never been the same--Say, Jack," this in a more natural tone, "if I had a whole dollar I could buy me a bottle of cough medicine." He coughed affectingly. "We hadn't ought to stand here," Joe went on nervously, "the sun's up. A cop might get nosey. If there's anythin' I hate it's a nosey cop. If you're able to walk I'll take you to my hangout. It's an old vacant house on the south side the Square. We go in through the area door when there's no one looking. It's a great crowd there ev'y night. You hear wonderful stories of travel around the fire." Greg thanked him but declined the invitation for the present. He was beginning to feel stronger. "If I could get a cup of coffee and a bite I'd be all right," he said. "Follow me," said Joe. "I know a place round in Sixth." Half an hour later Greg, still stiff and sore but otherwise himself again, started to make his way from Sixth Avenue through Ninth Street. In the broad light of day he felt not a little conspicuous in his shabby taxi-driver's make-up, but nobody appeared to look at him. His heart beat fast as he approached the little house with the big doors. As soon as he turned the corner he saw a policeman on guard in front and a little knot of the curious gathered near.