en and fetching up in hell?"

"Why?"

"That's how she says I looks. And she wants to make a statue of him,
just when he comes to and sits up, and looks up and sees how far he's
fell. She says my face has all the sorrers and horrors of the world
in it."

"And then, you fool," said the legless man, "you spoiled her game by
high living. You ate and you drank till you looked like a paranoiac
bulldog asleep in the sun. Where was the lady's studio?"

"Seventeen McBurney Place."

"And she wants to do a Satan, does she?"

The unshaven man drew back from the expression of the legless man, in
whose face it was as if all the fires of hell had suddenly burst into
flame. The unshaven man covered the breast of his threadbare coat with
outstretched hands as if to shield himself from some suddenly bared
weapon. His eyes blinked, but did not falter.

"Say," he said presently, after drawing a deep breath, "if she could see
you once."

"If I don't know," said the legless man, "how Satan felt after the fall,
nobody does. The things I've been--the things I've seen--back
there--down here--the things I've lost--the things I've found! Hell's
Bell's, Johnson! what is it you want--food?--drink?--a woman?"

The unshaven man's eyes shone with an unholy light.

"What would you do for twenty-five dollars?"

The unshaven man said nothing. He looked everything.

"Do you know the McIver woman?"

"Fanny?"

The legless man granted. "Yes. Fanny. She'll look at you if you've got
money."

"She'd crawl through a sewer to find a dime."

"Quite so," the legless man commented dryly. "Well, it wouldn't matter
to me if she went on a tear and was found dead in her bed."

"It's worth fifty." Something in the unshaven man's voice suggested that
he had once been remotely connected with some sort of a business.

The legless man shook his head. "Judas Iscariot," he said, "betrayed the
Lord God for thirty. Fanny McIver's scalp isn't worth a cent over
twenty-five. You're just a broken-down drunk. It takes a bigger bluffer
than you to make me put an insult on Christendom. Fifteen down. Ten when
Fanny's had her last hang-over."

"Why don't you do some of your dirty work yourself?"

"I do all I can," said the legless man simply; "I can't find time for
everything."

The unshaven man shifted uneasily on his shabby feet. In his stomach the
flames which only alcohol can quench were burning with a steady gnawing
fury. "How about a little drink?" he sa