“The big stiff!” muttered Jimmie.  “That’s the third one he’s copped on me this week.  A kid in this choint ain’t got no rights!  I got a good notion to throw ’em down cold and go with the Postal people.”

“Never mind!  I’ll blow you to an ice cream after work,” consoled Boogles.

“Ice cream!” Jimmie Time was contemptuous.  “I want the free, wild life of the boundless peraries.  I want b’ar steaks br’iled on the glowing coals of the camp fire.  I want to be Little Sure Shot, trapper, scout, and guide—­”

“Next out!” yelled the manager.  “Hustle now!”

Jimmie Time was next out.  He hustled sullenly.

Boogles, alone, slept fitfully on his bench until the young thugs of the day watch straggled in.  Then he achieved the change of his uniform to civilian garments, with only the accustomed minor maltreatment at the hands of these tormentors.  True, with sportive affectations—­yet with deadly intentness—­they searched him for possible loot; but only his pockets.  His dollar bill, folded inside his collar, went unfound.  With assumed jauntiness he strolled from the outlaws’ den and safely reached the street.

The gilding on the castellated towers of the tallest building in the world dazzled his blinking, foolish eyes.  That was a glorious summit which sang to the new sun, but no higher than his own elation at the moment.  Had he not come off with his dollar?  He found balm and a tender stimulus in the morning air—­an air for dreams and revolt.  Boogles felt this as thousands of others must have felt it who were yet tamely issuing from subway caverns and the Brooklyn Bridge to be wage slaves.

A block away from the office he encountered Jimmie Time, who seemed to await him importantly.  He seethed with excitement.

“I got one, too!” he called.  “That tank drama he sent another note uptown to a restaurant where a party was, and he give me a case note, too.”

He revealed it; and when Boogles withdrew his own treasure the two were lovingly compared and admired.  Nothing in all the world can be so foul to the touch as the dollar bill that circulates in New York, but these two were intrepidly fondled.

“I ain’t going back to change,” said Jimmie Time.  “Them other kids would cop it on me.”

“Have some cigarettes,” urged Boogies, and royally bought them—­with gilded tips, in a beautiful casket.

“I had about enough of their helling,” declared Jimmie, still glowing with a fine desperation.

They sought the William Street Tunnel under the Brooklyn Bridge.  It was cool and dark there.  One might smoke and take his ease.  And plan!  They sprawled on the stone pavement and smoked largely.

“Chee!  If we could get out West and do all them fine things!” mused Boogies.

“Let’s!” said Jimmie Time.

“Huh!” Boogies gasped blankly at this.

“Let’s beat it!”

“Chee!” said Boogies.  He stared at this bolder spirit with startled admiration.