and called Tulitz aside.

"Skip!" he said, "and be quick about it!"

IX.

MR. McCAFFERTY.

An incident of the late municipal election has recently come within my
knowledge, which I hasten to communicate to the public, in the hope that
an investigation will be ordered by the Legislature, and, if the facts
be as they are represented here (this being a faithful record of what I
have been credibly told), in the further hope that the men who have
tampered with the honor of Dennie McCafferty and his friend, The Croak,
will speedily be brought to justice.

Late one night toward the close of September Dennie was walking down
Houston Street toward the Bowery, when he suddenly espied The Croak
walking up Houston Street toward Broadway. As suddenly The Croak espied
him, and both stopped short. They looked at one another long and
intently, and then Dennie wheeled around and without a word led the way
into a saloon near at hand.

"Dice!" said he to the bartender. He rattled the box and threw. "Three
fives!" he cried.

[Illustration: DENNIE M'CAFFERTY.]

The Croak handled the dice-box with great deliberation. Presently he
rolled the ivories out. "Three sixes," he said slowly, "an' I'll take a
pony er brandy."

"That settles it!" cried Dennie joyously. "It's you, Croaker, sure pop.
My eyes did not deceive me. I thought they had, Croaker. I thought I
must be laboring under a mental strain. When I saw you coming up the
street I says to myself, 'That's The Croak.' Then I took another look,
and says, 'No, it can't be. The Croak's in Joliet doing three years for
working the sawdust.' Then I looked again and I says, 'It must be The
Croak. There's his cock-eye looking straight at me through the wooden
Indian in front of the cigar-store across the street.' Then I looked
once more, and says, 'But it can't be. Three years can't have passed
since The Croak and I were dealing faro in old McGlory's.' Once again I
looked, and I says, 'If it's The Croak, he'll chuck a bigger dice than
mine and stick me for drinks, and he'll take a pony of brandy.' There's
the dice, there's the pony, and there's The Croak. Drink hearty!"

They lifted their glasses and poured down the liquor, and Dennie
continued, "How'd you get out, Croaker?"

"Served me term," said The Croak shortly.

[Illustration: TOZIE MONKS, THE CROAK.]

"What! Then is it three years? Well, well, how the snows and the
blossoms come and go. We're growing old, Croaker. We