He pulled an old letter out of his pocket, but as it was too dark to read even if the woman had cared to do so, we went on up as he had expected, unmolested.  At last we came to the roof, where there were some children at play a couple of houses down from us.

Kennedy began by dropping two strands of wire down to the ground in the back yard behind Vincenzo’s shop.  Then he proceeded to lay two wires along the edge of the roof.

We had worked only a little while when the children began to collect.  However, Kennedy kept right on until we reached the tenement next to that in which Albano’s shop was.

“Walter,” he whispered, “just get the children away for a minute now.”

“Look here, you kids,” I yelled, “some of you will fall off if you get so close to the edge of the roof.  Keep back.”

It had no effect.  Apparently they looked not a bit frightened at the dizzy mass of clothes-lines below us.

“Say, is there a candy-store on this block?” I asked in desperation.

“Yes, sir,” came the chorus.

“Who’ll go down and get me a bottle of ginger ale?” I asked.

A chorus of voices and glittering eyes was the answer.  They all would.  I took a half-dollar from my pocket and gave it to the oldest.

“All right now, hustle along, and divide the change.”

With the scamper of many feet they were gone, and we were alone.  Kennedy had now reached Albano’s and as soon as the last head had disappeared below the scuttle of the roof he dropped two long strands down into the back yard, as he had done at Vincenzo’s.

I started to go back, but he stopped me.

“Oh, that will never do,” he said.  “The kids will see that the wires end here.  I must carry them on several houses farther as a blind and trust to luck that they don’t see the wire leading down below.”

We were several houses down, still putting up wires when the crowd came shouting back, sticky with cheap trust-made candy and black with East Side chocolate.  We opened the ginger ale and forced ourselves to drink it so as to excite no suspicion, then a few minutes later descended the stairs of the tenement, coming out just above Albano’s.

I was wondering how Kennedy was going to get into Albano’s again without exciting suspicion.  He solved it neatly.

“Now, Walter, do you think you could stand another dip into that red ink of Albano’s?”

I said I might in the interests of science and justice—­not otherwise.

“Well, your face is sufficiently dirty,” he commented, “so that with the overalls you don’t look very much as you did the first time you went in.  I don’t think they will recognize you.  Do I look pretty good?”

“You look like a coal-heaver out of a job,” I said.  “I can scarcely restrain my admiration.”

“All right.  Then take this little glass bottle.  Go into the back room and order something cheap, in keeping with your looks.  Then when you are all alone break the bottle.  It is full of gas drippings.  Your nose will dictate what to do next.  Just tell the proprietor you saw the gas company’s wagon on the next block and come up here and tell me.”