Under his side-whiskers the outlines of his square
jaws are faintly to be traced, holding in position a pair of hollow
cheeks that end directly under his eyes in a little knob of ruddy flesh.

Mr. Ricketty is walking along the Bowery. His step is light and easy,
and an air pervades him betokening peace and serenity of mind. In one
hand he carries a short rattan stick, which he twirls in his fingers
carelessly. His little black eyes travel further and faster than his
legs, and rove up and down and across the Bowery ceaselessly. He stops
in front of a building devoted, according to the signs spread numerously
about it, to a variety of trade.

The fifth floor is occupied by a photographer, the fourth by a dealer in
picture frames, the third and the second are let out for offices. Over
the first hangs the gilded symbol of the three balls and the further
information, lettered on a signboard, "Isaac Buxbaum, Money to Loan."
The basement is given over to a restaurant-keeper whose identity is
fixed by the testimony of another signboard, bearing the two words,
"Butter-cake Bob's." Mr. Ricketty's little black eyes wander for an
instant up and down the front of the building, and then he trips lightly
down the basement steps into the restaurant.

A score or more of small tables fastened securely to the floor--for
many, as Bob often said, "comes here deep in liquor an' can't tell a
white-pine table from a black felt hat"--were disposed about the room at
measured distances from each other, equipped with four short-legged
stools, a set of casters, and a jar of sugar, all so firmly fixed as to
baffle both cupidity and nervousness. On walls, posts, and pillars were
hung a number of allusions to the variety and excellence of Bob's
larder.

It was represented that coffee and cakes could be obtained for the
trifling sum of ten cents, that corned-beef hash was a specialty, and
that as for Bob's chicken soup it was the best in the Bowery. Apparently
attracted by this statement, Mr. Ricketty sat down, and intimated to a
large young man who presented himself that he was willing to try the
chicken soup together with a cup of coffee.

The young man lifted his head and shouted vociferously toward the
ceiling, "Chicken in de bowl, draw one!"

"My friend," said Mr. Ricketty, "what a noble pair of lungs you've got
and what a fine quality of voice."

The young man grinned cheerfully.

"I am tempted to lavish a cigar on you," continued Mr. Ri