he pantry shelf
beside Smith, adjusting his pistol under his suspenders.

"Young fella," he said in his agreeable voice, "you're dead right. You
sure said a face-full when you says to me, `Eve's a lady, by God!'
_You_ oughta know. You was a gentleman yourself once. Even if you take
to stickin' up the turn. She _is_ a lady. All I'm livin' for is to get
her down to the city and give her money to live like a lady. I'll do it
yet. ... Soon! ... I'd do it to-morrow -- to-night -- if I dared ... If
I thought it sure fire. ... If I was dead certain I could get away with
it. ... I've _got_ money, _Now!_ ... Only it ain't in _money_ ...
Smith?"

"Yes, Mike."

"You know me?"

"Sure."

"You size me up?"

"I do."

"All right. If you ever tell anyone I got money that ain't money I'll
shoot you through the head."

"Don't worry, Clinch."

"I ain't. You're a crook; you won't talk. You're a gentleman, too.
_They_ don't sell out a pal. Say, Hal, there's only one fella I don't
want to meet."

"Who's that, Mike?"

"Lemme tell you," continued Clinch, resting more heavily on the shelf
while Smith, looking out through the pantry shutter at the dancing,
listened intently.

"When I was in France in a Forestry Rig'ment," went on Clinch, lowering
his always pleasant voice, "I was to Paris on leave a few days before
they sent us home."

"I was in the washroom of a caffy -- a-cleanin' up for supper, when
dod-bang! into the place comes a-tumblin' a man with two cops pushing
and kicking him.

"They didn't see me in there for they locked the door on the man. He
was a swell gent, too, in full dress and silk hat and all like that, and
a opry cloak and white kid gloves, and mustache and French beard.

"When they locked him up he stood stock still and lit a cigarette, as
cool as ice. Then he begun walkin' around looking for a way to get out;
but there wasn't no way.

"Then he seen me and over he comes and talks English right away: `Want
to make a thousand francs, soldier?' sez he in a quick whisper. `You're
on,' sez I; `Show your dough.' `Them Flies has went to get the
Commissaire for to frisk me,' sez he. `Go to 13 roo Quinze Octobre and
give it to the concierge for Jose Quintana.' And he shoves the packet
on me and a thousand-franc note.

"Then he grabs me sudden and pulls open my collar. God, he was strong.

"`What's the matter with you?' says I. `Lemme go or I'll mash your mug
flat.' `Lemme see your ident