He gazed at the much-dreaded District Attorney with the awe of the new-born hero-worshipper. “I guess you are, too, hey?” he protested admiringly. “Vera was telling me you used to be a great ball tosser.” In the face of the District Attorney there came a sudden interest. His eyes lightened. “How did she--” “She used to watch you in Geneva,” said Mannie, “playing with the college lads. I--I,” he added consciously, “was a ball player myself once. Used to pitch for the Interstate League.” He stopped abruptly. “Interstate?” said Winthrop encouragingly. “You must have been good.” The enthusiasm had departed from the face of the boy. “Yes,” he said, “but--” he smiled shamefacedly, “but I got taking coke, and they--” He finished with a dramatic gesture of the hand as of a man tossing away a cigarette. “Cocaine?” said the District Attorney. The boy nodded and, for an instant, the two men eyed each other, the boy smiling ruefully. The District Attorney shook his head. “My young friend,” he said, “you can never beat that game!” Mannie stared at him, his eyes filled with surprise. “Don’t you suppose,” he said simply, “that I know that better than you do?” With a boy’s pride in his own incorrigibility he went on boastingly: “Oh, yes,” he said, “I used to be awful bad! Cocaine and all kinds of dope, and cigarettes, and whiskey. I was nearly all in--with morphine, it was then--till she took hold of me, and stopped me.” “She?” said Winthrop. “Vera,” said Mannie. “She made me stop. I had to stop. She started taking it herself.” “What!” cried Winthrop. “Oh!” exclaimed Mannie hastily, “I don’t mean what you mean--I mean she started taking it to make me stop. She says to me, Mannie, you’re killing yourself, and you got to quit it; and if you don’t, every time you take a grain, I’ll take two. And she did! I’d come home, and she’d see what I’d been doing, and she’d up with her sleeves, and--” In horrible pantomime, the boy lifted the cuff of his shirt, and pressed his right thumb against the wrist of his other arm. At the memory of it, he gave a shiver and, with a blow, roughly struck the cuff into place. “God!” he muttered, “I couldn’t stand it. I begged, and begged her not. I cried. I used to get down, in this room, on my knees. And each time she’d get whiter, and black under the eyes. And--and I had to stop. Didn’t I?” Winthrop moved his head. “And now,” cried the boy with a happy laugh, “I’m all right!” He appealed to the older man eagerly, wistfully. “Don’t you think I’m looking better than I did the last time you saw me?” Again, without venturing to speak, Winthrop nodded. Mannie smiled with pride. “Everybody tells me so,” he said. “Well, she did it. That’s what she did for me. And, I can tell you,” he said simply, sincerely, “there ain’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. I guess that’s right, hey?” he added.