Kid Shannon wriggled uncomfortably.  “Say,” he said, “what changed you?”

“I’m not changed,” said Blizzard; “according to Dr. Ferris I’m just acting natural.  I was a good boy.  I had a fracture of the skull.  The bone pressed on my gray matter and made me a bad man.  I’ll tell you a funny thing:  I can’t beat the box any more! I had a go at it the other day, the missus all ready to work the pedals, and Lord help me there was no more music in my head or my fingers than there is in the liver of a frog.  It was the same when I was a two-legged little kid—­no music.”

“Are you going to close the old diggings?”

Blizzard shook his head.  “Yes and no.  I’m going to pull down the old rookery; and I’m going to put up in its place a model factory.”

“Hats?”

“Hats and maybe other things.  I’m going to show New York how to run a sweatshop—­you wait and see—­the most wages and the least sweat—­and the girls happier and safer than in their own homes.  The missus and I were planning to bolt to a new place and begin life all over.  That was foolish.  I’d always feel like a coward.  Don’t forget that old friends meditating new crimes will be welcome at the office—­advice always given away, money sometimes and sometimes help.  Pass the word around—­and when you and Miss Half-past Girl send out your cards don’t forget me and Mrs. Blizzard in Marrow Lane.”

He leaned forward, his eyes very bright and mischievous.

“Kid,” he said, “artistically and dramatically, it’s a pity.”

“What’s a pity?”

“That we didn’t loot Maiden Lane before we got religion.  If there was any hitch in the plan, I don’t know what it was.  And, Lord, I was so set on the whole thing—­not because I wanted the loot, but to see if it could be done.  Some of you always said it couldn’t—­said there was a joker in the pack.  Well, we’ll never know now.  And here’s Mrs. O’Farrall come to pass the time of day—­Good-by, Kid, so-long, pass the word around.  Good luck—­love and best wishes to Half-past!  Mrs. O’Farrall, your kitchen extends under the sidewalk; the more negotiable of your delicatessen are cooked on city property.”

“And ’twill be me ruin to have it found out.  What I came for—­”

“Was to find out what I’m going to do about it.  Well, the law that you’re breaking isn’t hurting the city a bit, Mrs. O’Farrall—­I wish I could say the same for your biscuits.  If you’re reported, come to me and I’ll see you through.  How’s Morgan the day?”

“The same as to-morrow, thank ye kindly—­dhrunk and philanderin’.”

“I’ll send him a pledge to sign with my compliments, Mrs. O’Farrall, and a good job at the same time.”

“He’ll never sign the pledge.”

“Not if I ask him to, Mrs. O’Farrall, ask him on bended knee?”

Mrs. O’Farrall looked frightened, apoplectic, and confused.  Blizzard lifted his heavy eyebrows, then a smile began to brighten his face.