The man stopped smoking and looked at me.

“Have ye any amendments,” he asks, “to offer to that statement, or are ye one too?  I thought by the looks of ye ye might have him in charge.”

“None,” says I to him, “except that as one horseshoe resembles another so are ye the picture of good luck as predicted by the hand of me friend.  If not, then the lines of Danny’s hand may have been crossed, I don’t know.”

“There’s two of ye,” says the man with the nose, looking up and down for the sight of a policeman.  “I’ve enjoyed your company immense.  Good-night.”

With that he shoves his segar in his mouth and moves across the street, stepping fast.  But Tobin sticks close to one side of him and me at the other.

“What!” says he, stopping on the opposite sidewalk and pushing back his hat; “do ye follow me?  I tell ye,” he says, very loud, “I’m proud to have met ye.  But it is my desire to be rid of ye.  I am off to me home.”

“Do,” says Tobin, leaning against his sleeve.  “Do be off to your home.  And I will sit at the door of it till ye come out in the morning.  For the dependence is upon ye to obviate the curse of the nigger man and the blonde lady and the financial loss of the one-sixty-five.”

“’Tis a strange hallucination,” says the man, turning to me as a more reasonable lunatic.  “Hadn’t ye better get him home?”

“Listen, man,” says I to him.  “Daniel Tobin is as sensible as he ever was.  Maybe he is a bit deranged on account of having drink enough to disturb but not enough to settle his wits, but he is no more than following out the legitimate path of his superstitions and predicaments, which I will explain to you.”  With that I relates the facts about the palmist lady and how the finger of suspicion points to him as an instrument of good fortune.  “Now, understand,” I concludes, “my position in this riot.  I am the friend of me friend Tobin, according to me interpretations.  ’Tis easy to be a friend to the prosperous, for it pays; ’tis not hard to be a friend to the poor, for ye get puffed up by gratitude and have your picture printed standing in front of a tenement with a scuttle of coal and an orphan in each hand.  But it strains the art of friendship to be true friend to a born fool.  And that’s what I’m doing,” says I, “for, in my opinion, there’s no fortune to be read from the palm of me hand that wasn’t printed there with the handle of a pick.  And, though ye’ve got the crookedest nose in New York City, I misdoubt that all the fortune-tellers doing business could milk good luck from ye.  But the lines of Danny’s hand pointed to ye fair, and I’ll assist him to experiment with ye until he’s convinced ye’re dry.”

After that the man turns, sudden, to laughing.  He leans against a corner and laughs considerable.  Then he claps me and Tobin on the backs of us and takes us by an arm apiece.

“’Tis my mistake,” says he.  “How could I be expecting anything so fine and wonderful to be turning the corner upon me?  I came near being found unworthy.  Hard by,” says he, “is a cafe, snug and suitable for the entertainment of idiosyncrasies.  Let us go there and have drink while we discuss the unavailability of the categorical.”