up. All them army officers are hard boiled
eggs when it comes to risking real money, and I knew the major must
think his twenty-five was as safe as if he'd invested it in thrift
stamps. As for Old Hickory Ellins, he'd toss away a hundred any time on
the chance of pulling a good bluff. So I indulges in a shadowy little
grin myself and beats it up town.

Simple enough to locate them spools of wire. Oh, yes. They're right in
the middle of the block between Sixth and Broadway, tucked away
inconspicuous among as choice a collection of contractor's junk as you
can find anywhere in town, and that's sayin' a good deal. But maybe
you've noticed what's been happenin' along there where Fifty-ninth
street gets high-toned? Looks like an earthquake had wandered by, but
it's only that down below they're connectin' the new subway with another
East river tunnel. And if there's anything in the way of old derricks,
or scrap iron, or wooden beams, or construction sheds that ain't been
left lying around on top it's because they didn't have it on hand to
leave.

Cute little things, them spools are, too; about six feet high, three
wide, and weighin' a ton or so each, I should judge. And to make the
job of movin' 'em all the merrier an old cement mixer has been at work
right next to 'em and the surplus concrete has been thrown out until
they've been bedded in as solid as so many bridge piers. I climbs around
and takes a look.

"How cunnin'!" says I. "Why, they'd make the Rock of Ages look like a
loose front tooth. And all I got to do is pull 'em up by the roots, one
at a time. Ha, ha! Likewise, tee-hee!"

It sized up like a bad case of bee bite with me at the wrong end of the
stinger. Still, I was just mulish enough to stick around. I had nearly
three hours left before I'd have to listen to the major's mirthsome
cackle, and I might as well spend part of it thinkin' up fool schemes.
So I walks around that cluster of cement-set spools some more. I even
climbs on top of one and gazes up and down the block.

They were still doing things to make it look less like a city street and
more like the ruins of Louvain. Down near the Fifth Avenue gates was the
fenced-in mouth of a shaft that led somewhere into the bowels of
Manhattan. And while I was lookin' out climbs a dago, unrolls a dirty
red flag, and holds up the traffic until a dull "boom" announces that
the offensive is all over for half an hour or so. Up towards Columbus
Circle more industry