Master Maloney, who had taken advantage of the interruption to edge back into the center of things, now appeared to consider the question of his departure permanently shelved. He sidled to a corner of the landing, and sat down on an empty soap box with the air of a dramatic critic at the opening night of a new play. The scene looked good to him. It promised interesting developments. He was an earnest student of the drama, as exhibited in the theaters of the East Side, and few had ever applauded the hero of "Escaped from Sing Sing," or hissed the villain of "Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak-model" with more fervor. He liked his drama to have plenty of action, and to his practised eye this one promised well. There was a set expression on John's face which suggested great things. His pleasure was abruptly quenched. John, placing a firm hand on his collar, led him to the top of the stairs and pushed him down. "Beat it," he said. The rent-collector watched these things with a puzzled eye. He now turned to John. "Say, seen anything of the wops that live here?" he enquired. "My name's Gooch. I've come to take the rent." John nodded. "I don't think there's much chance of your seeing them to-night," he said. "The father, I hear, is in prison. You won't get any rent out of him." "Then it's outside for theirs," said Mr. Gooch definitely. "What about the kid?" said John. "Where's he to go?" "That's up to him. Nothing to do with me. I'm only acting under orders from up top." "Whose orders?" enquired John. "The gent who owns this joint." "Who is he?" Suspicion crept into the protruding eyes of the rent-collector. "Say!" he demanded. "Who are you anyway, and what do you think you're doing here? That's what I'd like to know. What do you want with the name of the owner of this place? What business is it of yours?" "I'm a newspaper man." "I guessed you were," said Mr. Gooch with triumph. "You can't bluff me. Well, it's no good, sonny. I've nothing for you. You'd better chase off and try something else." He became more friendly.