“Got to ask ye to move a little, sir,” he said in apology.

“Hold on,” replied Felix, in considerate tones, “I will stand up and you can get at it better.  Bad night for everybody.”  He was on his feet now, his long mackintosh hanging straight, his hat still on his head, and in his hand the blackthorn stick, which he had picked up from beside the table as he rose.

The man stared at the mackintosh, the hat, and the cane, and sprang to his feet.  “I know ye!” he cried excitedly.  “Do you know me?”

Felix studied him closely.  “I do not think I do,” he answered, frowning slightly.

“Well, ye ought to.  I ain’t never forgot ye, and I never will.  You give me a meal once and a dollar to keep me going.”

O’Day’s brow relaxed.  “Yes, now I do.  You are the man whose wife left him, and who tried to steal my watch.”

“That’s it—­you got it.  You didn’t give me away.  Say, I been straight ever since.  It’s been tough, but I kep’ on—­I work here three nights in the week and I got another job in a joint on Second Avenue.  Say—­” he added, glancing furtively over his shoulder.  Then finding his suspicions confirmed, and the attention of the group fastened on him, he began to push the broom vigorously, muttering in jerks to Felix:  “This ain’t no place for ye—­git into trouble sure—­what yer doin’ here?—­They’re onto ye, or the bunch wouldn’t have their heads together—­don’t make no difference who’s here, everybody gits pinched—­I can’t talk—­they’ll git wise and fire me.”

Felix’s lip curled and an amused expression drifted over his face.  His jaws set, the muscles forming little ridges about his ears.

“I will attend to that later,” he said, in a firm voice.  “Keep on with your work.”

He shook the ashes from his pipe, resumed his seat, and leaned carelessly forward with his elbows on his thighs, his former protege, now deep in his work, squeezing the wet rag into the bucket, and using the broom where the mud was thickest.  When the swabbing-up process brought the man within speaking distance again Felix leaned still further forward and asked: 

“What sort of a place is this—­a restaurant?”

The man turned his head.  He was again on his knees, and had drawn nearer.  He was now wiping the same spot so as to be within reach of Felix’s ear.

“Downstairs—­yes,” he returned in a low voice.  “Upstairs —­in the rear—­across a roof—­” He glanced again at the group and stopped.

“A gambling house?”

“No—­a pool-room.  That’s why I give ye the tip.”

Felix ruminated, the man polishing vigorously. 
“What kind of people come here?”

“The kind ye see—­and crooks.”

“Do you know them all?”

“Why not?  I been workin’ here two months.  Had two raids—­that’s why I posted ye.  It’s the chop-house game now, with a new deal all around, but they’re onto it—­so a pal of mine tells me.”