"There, don't you worry. Don't tell anyone else you're his cousin, and I won't either. You don't need to be afraid of these gang-men. Just be careful and yell for the police. The trouble with you Italians is that you are afraid to tell the police anything when you are treated badly. Your cousin should have reported this case to the Ellis Island authorities. They would have traced that girl and saved her." The man looked gratefully into Burke's eyes, as the tears ran down his face. "Oh, signor, eef all de police were lika you we be not afraid." Just then he dropped his eyes, and Burke noticed that his hand trembled as he suddenly reached for a big orange and held it up. The man spoke with a surprising constraint, still holding his look upon the fruit. "Signor, here's a fine orange. You wanta buy heem?" In a whisper he added: "Eet is de bigga man who told my cousin to get outa da country!" Bobbie in astonishment turned around and beheld two pedestrians who were walking slowly past, both staring curiously at the Italian. He gave an exclamation of surprise as he noticed that one of the men was no less a personage than Jimmie the Monk. The man with him was a big, raw-boned Bowery character of pugilistic build. "Why, I thought that scoundrel would have been tried and sentenced by this time," murmured the officer. "I know they told me his case had been postponed by his lawyer, an alderman. But this is one on me." The smaller man caught Burke's eye and gave him an insolent laugh. He even stopped and muttered something to his companion. Burke's blood was up in an instant. He advanced quickly toward the tough. Jimmie sneered, as he stood his ground, confident in the security of his political protection. "Move on there," snapped Burke. "This is no loafing place." "Aaaah, go chase sparrers," snarled Jimmie the Monk. "Who ye think yer talking to, rookie?" Now, Officer Burke was a peaceful soul, despite his military training. His short record on the force had been noteworthy for his ability to disperse several incipient riots, quiet more than one brawl, and tame several bad men without resorting to rough work. But there was a rankling in his spirit which overcame the geniality which had been reigning in his heart so short a time before. He was tired. He was weak from his recent confinement. But the fighting blood of English and some Irish ancestors stirred in his veins. He walked quietly up to the Monk, and his voice was low, his words calm, as he remarked: "You clear out of this neighborhood. I am going to put you where you belong the first chance I get. And I don't want any of your impudence now. Move along." Jimmie mistook the quiet manner for respect and a timid memory of the recent retirement from active service. He spread his legs, and, with a wink to his companion, he began, with the strident rasp of tone which can seldom be heard above Fourteenth Street and east of Third Avenue.