's guide to New
York, that was a peach! Cap'n Bill Logan's idea seems to have been to
indicate all the crooked joints, gamblin' halls, and such with red
daggers. Must have been some investigator too; for in spots they was
sprinkled thick, with the names written alongside. When I begun readin'
some of 'em, though, I snickers.

"What's this on the Bowery?" says I. "Suicide Hall?"

"You bet!" says he. "Cap'n Bill warned me about that special."

"Did, eh?" says I. "Well, he needn't; for it's been out of business for
years. So has Honest John Kelly's, and Theiss's, and Stevenson's. What
vintage is this, anyway? When was it your friend took in the sights
last?"

"Wall, I guess it's been quite awhile," says Jim Isham, rubbin' his
chin. "Let's see, Bill opened the store in '95, and for a couple of
years before that he was runnin' the shingle mill. Yes, it must have
been nigh twenty years ago."

"Back in the days of the Parkhurst crusade," says I. "Yes, I expect all
them dives was runnin' full blast once. But there ain't one of 'em
left."

"Sho!" says he. "You don't say! Gov'ment been improvin' the channels,
same as they done in Hell Gate?"

"Something like that," says I. "Only not quite the same; for when them
Hell Gate rocks was blown up that was the end of 'em. But we get a fresh
crop of red light joints every season. You tell Cap'n Bill when you get
back that his wickedness chart needs revisin'."

"I'll write him that, b'gum!" says Mr. Isham. "Maybe that's why I
couldn't locate this reservoir he said I ought to see, the one I was
huntin' for when we fouled. See, it says corner of 42d and Fifth-ave.,
plain as day; but all I could find was that big white buildin' with the
stone lions in front."

"Naturally," says I; "for they tore the old reservoir down years ago and
built the new city lib'ry on the spot. But how was it your friend put in
so many warnin's against them old dives? You didn't come on to cultivate
a late crop of wild oats, did you?"

"Nary an oat," says he, shakin' his head solemn. "I ain't much of a
churchgoer; but I've always been a moderate, steady-goin' man. It was on
account of my havin' this money to invest."

"Oh!" says I. "Much?"

"Fifty thousand dollars," says he.

I glances at him puzzled. Was it a case of loose wirin', or was this old
jay tryin' to hand me the end of the twine ball? Just then, though,
along comes Hermann with a couple of three-inch combination chops and a
dish of baked