At that moment there were steps heard on the rickety cellar-steps, and in another moment a young man--scarcely more than a boy--came to the door. He was a typical “Bowery tough,” made so by his life in this part of the city, with its most unsavory reputation. He wore a faded corduroy cap, set at an aggressive angle on his frowsy head, and for the rest of his costume he wore a blue flannel shirt, open at the throat, and corduroy pantaloons. His shoes looked as though in urgent need of the services of the shoemaker. His face was dirty, and one of his eyes was blackened and swollen. And, over it all, there showed something so depraved and sinister, such a drawn look of pallor and decay, in spite of his youth, a stranger would not have known how to classify this strange output of city life, but the initiated would have summed it all up in one word--dope. This means the unutterable depravity of opium-smoking. In fact, he was generally known in his haunts as Dopey. As he stood on the floor of the shop, Dopey said, in a hoarse voice: “Hello, Sis. Where’s de main squeeze?” “Where is what?” “Why, his gazootses; de motza crusher--de man wit’ de birt’mark o’ t’ree balls on his skull-front--de boss, if I must say it.” “Do you mean my father?” “I guess so. Where is ’e?” “He went out to deliver a pair of shoes he has finished and to bring back some to be mended.” “Why, soy, go find ’im. I got a job fer ’im. Dey’s a couple of swell guys up de street dat needs his ’sisterence. De he guy say dat he’ll stake me ter a dollar. De moll kicked de heel off her Louie Fourteent’ an’ wants it nailed on. Dat dollar means de hop-joint if I get it, an’ to de bat-house if I don’t. Why, soy, dere’s nuttin’ to it.” “I’ll go and find him,” said Loney, in his childish voice. He somewhat understood this Bowery slang better than Dora. “Dat’s de trick. Be sure ye does, for if I misses dis I kin see de brassy cop on dis beat pullin’ de hook fer de ambylants, an’ me t’rowin’ a fit in de suds-tub at de croak-joint--de horspittle. Hully gee! mosey, kid. Shake yer skates.” These last words were accompanied by so suggestive a movement that Loney sprang lightly up the steps and disappeared in search of Mr. Goldberg. As the child disappeared, he shouted: “Hop! Go! Git!” Then, turning to Dora, he said: “Dat’s de racket. Your old man’ll git more coin for dis job dan he ever seen afore.” “I’ll be glad,” replied Dora, half-afraid of this strange-looking creature, “for business has been very poor lately.” There was a darkening of the cellar-door, and Dora raised her eyes to see a tall, dark, handsome and well-dressed man assisting a lady down the steps. She was a handsome and very stylishly dressed woman--large and with a most unwomanly expression on her features. In short, it was but too evident that she had been drinking and could scarcely maintain her equilibrium.