understand they are going to
write you a letter concerning it, but I thought you might like to know
of it in advance. In case this Mr. Brunell is alive, they will pay him
the money on demand, or if dead, to his heirs after him."

The middle-aged man with the shifty eyes spat cautiously, and then,
rubbing his stubby chin with a hairy, freckled hand, observed:

"Well, young man, I'm Pennold, all right. I do some business with the
Brooklyn & Queens people--small business, of course, for we poor
honest folk haven't the money to put in finance that the big
stock-holders have. I don't know where you can find this man Brunell,
haven't heard of him in years, but I understand he went wrong. Ain't
that so, Mame?"

The hatchet-faced woman nodded her head in slow and non-committal
thought.

Pennold edged a little nearer his unknown guest and asked in a tone of
would-be heartiness. "And what might your name be? You're a
bright-looking feller to be a bank-clerk--not the stolid, plodding
kind."

Morrow chuckled again.

"My name is Hicks. I live at 46 Jefferson Place. It's only a little
way from here, you know." He swung his lunch-box nonchalantly. "Of
course, bank-clerking don't get you anywhere, but it's steady, such as
it is, and I go out with the boys a lot." He added confidentially:
"The ponies are still running, you know, even if the betting-ring is
closed--and there are other ways--" He paused significantly.

"I see, a sport, eh?" Pennold darted a quick glance at his wife.
"Well, don't let it get the best of you, young feller. Remember what I
told you about Jimmy Brunell--at least, what the report of him was. If
I hear anything of where he is, I'll let the bank know."

"I'll be getting on; I'm late now--" Morrow paused on the bottom step
of the little porch and turned. "See you again, Mr. Pennold, and your
wife, if you'll let me. I pass by here often--I've been boarding with
Mrs. Lindsay, on Jefferson Place, for some time now. By the way, have
you seen the sporting page of the _Gazette_ this morning? Al Goetz
edits it, you know, and he gives you the straight dope. There'll be
nothing to that fight they're pulling off Saturday night at the Zucker
Athletic Club--Hennessey'll put it all over Schnabel in the first
round. Good-by! If you hear anything of this Brunell, be sure you let
me or the bank know!"

For a long moment after his buoyant stride had carried him out of
sight around the corner, Walter Pennold and his wif