ly so's we can feel your face, so's to know what you look like."

He stood impatient and embarrassed while they pawed his face with hard,
grimy hands.

At last they let him go, he whose barrow was full accompanying him to
the end of the passageway, and speeding him on his way with this
comfortable remark:

"If you was to dive deep and feel around, you might find those as is
leaded to the bottom."

It took every ounce of nerve that Bubbles had at command to let his legs
and body slip down into the cold and tragic current. It seemed certain
that dead hands were reaching for him. But he screwed his courage up to
the sticking point, and called to his acquaintance in the passage-mouth
a whispered but nonchalant, "S'long!"

XXX

When Bubbles entered Blicker's drug-store, the city clocks were striking
a quarter to twelve, but the place was still brightly lighted, and at
the soda-counter a young man was treating his flame to a glass of
chocolate vanilla ice-cream.

Bubbles marched to the prescription counter, and began to unwrap a
bloody handkerchief from his left hand. Then he began to clear his
throat. This brought Mr. Blicker from a region of mortar pestles, empty
pill-boxes, and glass retorts.

"What you want?" he asked aggressively.

"I want me thumb bandaged."

"You cut him--eh?"

Bubbles lowered his voice. "On a barnacle."

"Come in back here," said Mr. Blicker roughly. "I fix him." But once out
of sight in the depths of the store, his manner changed, and he patted
Bubbles enthusiastically on the back. "You have found out some things?"

"Sure--lots."

The chemist, without commenting, began to treat the cut thumb, washing,
disinfecting, and bandaging. Then, very loud, for the benefit perhaps of
the lovers at the soda-counter, "So," he said, "I let you out the
back door."

And he actually opened a door, slammed it shut, and turned a key in the
lock. But it was a closet door. Then with a finger on his lips he
pointed to a narrow staircase and, his own feet making a great tramping,
led the way up it. Upon the top steps they found Mr. Lichtenstein,
nervously puffing clouds of tobacco smoke,

"'Bout given you up," he said. "Good boy!"

"Better talk by the parlor," said Blicker; "here is too exposed."

When the door of the stuffy little parlor had closed behind them, the
proprietor began to smile and beam. But Mr. Lichtenstein looked grave
and troubled. It was not for pleasure that he sometimes f