“You bet it was,” groaned the Captain, “you bet your life it was.  Have you got any more like that to make—­hey?”

“I admit we failed,” sighed Murray.  “I was sure Malone would be good for one more free lunch after the way he talked baseball with me the last time I spent a nickel in his establishment.”

“I had this hand,” said the Captain, extending the unfortunate member—­“I had this hand on the drumstick of a turkey and two sardine sandwiches when them waiters grabbed us.”

“I was within two inches of the olives,” said Murray.  “Stuffed olives.  I haven’t tasted one in a year.”

“What’ll we do?” grumbled the Captain.  “We can’t starve.”

“Can’t we?” said Murray quietly.  “I’m glad to hear that.  I was afraid we could.”

“You wait here,” said the Captain, rising, heavily and puffily to his feet.  “I’m going to try to make one more turn.  You stay here till I come back, Murray.  I won’t be over half an hour.  If I turn the trick I’ll come back flush.”

He made some elephantine attempts at smartening his appearance.  He gave his fiery mustache a heavenward twist; he dragged into sight a pair of black-edged cuffs, deepened the crease in his middle by tightening his belt another hole, and set off, jaunty as a zoo rhinoceros, across the south end of the park.

When he was out of sight Murray also left the park, hurrying swiftly eastward.  He stopped at a building whose steps were flanked by two green lights.

“A police captain named Maroney,” he said to the desk sergeant, “was dismissed from the force after being tried under charges three years ago.  I believe sentence was suspended.  Is this man wanted now by the police?”

“Why are ye asking?” inquired the sergeant, with a frown.

“I thought there might be a reward standing,” explained Murray, easily.  “I know the man well.  He seems to be keeping himself pretty shady at present.  I could lay my hands on him at any time.  If there should be a reward—­”

“There’s no reward,” interrupted the sergeant, shortly.  “The man’s not wanted.  And neither are ye.  So, get out.  Ye are frindly with um, and ye would be selling um.  Out with ye quick, or I’ll give ye a start.”

Murray gazed at the officer with serene and virtuous dignity.

“I would be simply doing my duty as a citizen and gentleman,” he said, severely, “if I could assist the law in laying hold of one of its offenders.”

Murray hurried back to the bench in the park.  He folded his arms and shrank within his clothes to his ghost-like presentment.

Ten minutes afterward the Captain arrived at the rendezvous, windy and thunderous as a dog-day in Kansas.  His collar had been torn away; his straw hat had been twisted and battered; his shirt with ox-blood stripes split to the waist.  And from head to knee he was drenched with some vile and ignoble greasy fluid that loudly proclaimed to the nose its component leaven of garlic and kitchen stuff.