Larsen swore roundly. “What do you take me for? A sucker?” he said. “I can read the papers as well as anybody, and wool was selling for fifty-five cents on the market to-day. You don’t get my wool for no forty cents.” “And we ain’t buyin’ no bled wool at market prices, neither,” retorted a truculent voice. “The risk we have to take is worth the difference in price. Forty cents is the limit. You can take that or keep your wool.” Larsen swore loudly. “You needn’t think you can put up no job on me,” he said. “You know well enough the wool’s worth more than that. If you fellows don’t want it, there’s others that do. And I can get my price, too.” “If them Secret Service guys don’t get it first,” said a voice with a hint of threat in the tone. “Somebody’s liable to peach on you any minute.” “And if I found who done it,” said Larsen with another oath, “I’d put him in the East River quick. That ain’t a safe game to play on Andy Larsen.” The voices had grown loud and threatening. “Shut up!” growled somebody. “Do you want to draw all the cops on South Street?” For a moment there was silence. “Who takes my wool?” demanded Larsen. “Who’ll raise the ante?” For a space there was no answer. Then Willie heard the voice of Sheridan. “Give you forty-two.” Evidently there had been an agreement among the prospective buyers, as Larsen had suggested, for now an indignant murmur went up. “Who is the guy?” Willie heard some one say. “That junkie from Greenpoint,” came the answer, accompanied by an oath. “The wool is yours,” said Larsen. “The rest of you can go kick yourselves.” And he gave a hoarse laugh. The combination against him was beaten. At once there was an outburst of angry voices. In the babel of sound Willie could hardly distinguish one word from another, but he understood that the crowd had turned on Sheridan. Willie’s heart almost stood still with fear for his friend. Then above all the noise rang out the voice of Larsen, bellowing a warning about “the cops.” Instantly the clamor subsided, only to start again as the crowd began to move toward the shore. Soon everybody was gone excepting a few barge captains whose boats lay in the dock beside the pier. They seemed to be cronies of Larsen’s. Now Willie could hear plainly. Larsen was cursing the combination of junkies that had tried to put up a game on him. Presently he stopped swearing at them and turned to Sheridan, roughly inviting him to come into the cabin of his boat to see the wool and pay for it. The burly wool thief led the way, and Sheridan followed him without hesitation. Willie breathed easy until the other boatmen followed the barge captain and the Secret Service man over the side of the pier. A moment later loud voices arose within the hull of the barge. The sound of blows followed. Then all was still. Frightened, almost terrified, Willie scrambled from his hiding-place and raced for shore. He was certain Sheridan had been murdered.