"I can give you that to-day," said London Bill, "better than in May. I'll be busy in my tunnel in May, and won't have time to come out. Here's what I'll do: I'll call up Dan right now. Dan's an old sailor, as well as a first-class gun and hold-up man--the gang calls him Steamboat Dan. I'll call Dan, an' put him into the play. Then when the time comes, Dan will get you the men, an' of the right proper sort. There won't be one of 'em who hasn't done a stretch." "But," remonstrated Storri uneasily, "are you sure of this Steamboat Dan?" "I wouldn't be lushin' gin in his crib else," responded London Bill. "No, Dan's as sure as death. Besides, I'm not goin' to put him wise; I shall only tell him to do whatever you ask, whenever you show up." London Bill called Dan, and the trio broadened their confidence in each other with further gin and beer. Dan gave his word for whatever was required; Storri had but to appear and issue his orders. "You'll be in at the finish, Dan," said London Bill; "an' for the others, pick out a dozen of the flossiest coves you can find. You'll be bringin' them to where I'm workin', d'ye see; an' the job will be ripe." "Will it be much of a play?" asked Dan. "Biggest ever," said London Bill; "an' yet, no harder than prickin' a blister." Storri jumped into the cab, which had waited for him at the door, and rattled swiftly away. Within five minutes thereafter, a ragged gamin strutted into the Albion bar. "Be you Steamboat Dan?" chirped the gamin, fixing the eye of a sparrow upon that tapster. "Well, s'ppose I be?" said Dan, not too well pleased with the sparrow-eyed. "Then this is for you," quoth the gamin, thrusting a note across the bar. Dan glanced at the note; next he smote the bar, accompanying the smiting with soft curses. "What's the row?" asked one of the loungers. "Nothin'," said Dan, his face clearing into a look of easy craft. "Here's a pal of mine gets himself run over an' fractured by the cable cars, an' is took to the hospital. You hold down the bar, Jimmy, while I go look him over."