overed a great bird. The
bird was known to humorists as the stork. But the people of Chrystie
street were better ornithologists. They called it a vulture.

A little girl of twelve came up timidly to the man reading and
resting by the window, and said:

"Papa, won't you play a game of checkers with me if you aren't too
tired?"

The red-haired, unshaven, untidy man sitting shoeless by the window
answered, with a frown.

"Checkers. No, I won't. Can't a man who works hard all day have a
little rest when he comes home? Why don't you go out and play with
the other kids on the sidewalk?"

The woman who was cooking came to the door.

"John," she said, "I don't like for Lizzie to play in the street.
They learn too much there that ain't good for 'em. She's been in the
house all day long. It seems that you might give up a little of your
time to amuse her when you come home."

"Let her go out and play like the rest of 'em if she wants to be
amused," said the red-haired, unshaven, untidy man, "and don't
bother me."

* * * * * * *

"You're on," said Kid Mullaly. "Fifty dollars to $25 I take Annie to
the dance. Put up."

The Kid's black eyes were snapping with the fire of the baited and
challenged. He drew out his "roll" and slapped five tens upon the
bar. The three or four young fellows who were thus "taken" more
slowly produced their stake. The bartender, ex-officio stakeholder,
took the money, laboriously wrapped it, recorded the bet with an
inch-long pencil and stuffed the whole into a corner of the cash
register.

"And, oh, what'll be done to you'll be a plenty," said a bettor,
with anticipatory glee.

"That's my lookout," said the "Kid," sternly. "Fill 'em up all
around, Mike."

After the round Burke, the "Kid's" sponge, sponge-holder, pal,
Mentor and Grand Vizier, drew him out to the bootblack stand at the
saloon corner where all the official and important matters of the
Small Hours Social Club were settled. As Tony polished the light tan
shoes of the club's President and Secretary for the fifth time that
day, Burke spake words of wisdom to his chief.

"Cut that blond out, 'Kid,'" was his advice, "or there'll be
trouble. What do you want to throw down that girl of yours for?
You'll never find one that'll freeze to you like Liz has. She's
worth a hallful of Annies."

"I'm no Annie admirer!" said the "Kid," dropping a cigarette ash
on his polished toe, and wiping i