Along about two in the morning a young chap about twenty was brought in to the desk. While he was being searched the two hypos had their eyes glued on him. “He ain’t got a dime,” said Georgie to his partner when the searching was done. The desk man gave the young fellow his cigarettes and he was locked in with us. He was neat, well dressed, and very wise looking. He sniffed at the hypos, gave me half a glance, adjusted his tie, and polished his shoes by rubbing each foot on the back of the opposite leg. He hung a cigarette on his lower lip and felt about for matches, but found none. “Hey, you,” snapping his fingers at Georgie, “gimme a match.” Georgie gave him a few. “I’ll be out of here in an hour,” said the newcomer, inhaling his smoke. “I’ll send you in anything you want. I’m a quick connector. I can get a ten-dollar piece before I get out of the block—sucker born every minute, you know.” “Yes, I know,” Georgie replied. “I’m sorry for them poor suckers. They’re all asleep down in the Palace Hotel and you’re up here in the can begging matches. There’s one born every minute, all right, but there’s two wise guys going to jail every minute, an’ beggin’ matches.” The wise guy said no more, but stood by the door waiting to go out. He was standing there when I left in the morning. Georgie turned to his companion. “That last shot didn’t hit me right; we’d better cook up another an’ begin to get straightened up for court.” Having bought the stuff for them, I took the liberty to sit by while they took their shot, which they did without seeming to notice me. Their bony arms were gray, like pieces of petrified wood. The skin was pocked with marks, mottled and scarred from the repeated, hourly stabbing of the needle. Their shirt sleeves were encrusted with dried blood from the many punctures. And yet they appeared oblivious to it all. “Have a little shot, young fellow?” Georgie asked cordially. I declined. “What would happen to me if I did?” I asked. “Why, nothing; you’d lie down on the bench and sleep like a baby till time to go out in the morning, that’s all.” “Yes! And what would happen to the balance of my silver while I am sleeping like a baby?” Georgie’s partner cut in like a flash: “This is what would happen. Me and Georgie would stick right here by you and see that nobody frisked you for it.” I laughed so loud that the desk officer thinking some one had gone hysterical, stood up sleepily and peered over his desk into the cell. The other bums stirred uneasily in their sleep. Mine was the only laugh there that night. I could laugh then; I didn’t know anything about hop. My companions didn’t seem hurt or offended because of my intimation that they had designs on my last four-bit piece. They fell to discussing their case and preparing a talk for the judge in the morning. Georgie was for pleading guilty, and his chum wanted to “talk the judge out of it.” They couldn’t agree, and looked at me. I ventured to ask what they had done.