like you belong to would have made a
bum and a criminal out of me if I hadn't been too smart for 'em, and it's
a kind of satisfaction to have 'em coming down here to Monahan's for
things they can't have without my leave. I've got a half Nelson on 'em. I
wouldn't live up on Grant Avenue if you gave me Scherer's new house."

I was silent.

"Instead of starting my career in college, I started in jail," he went
on, apparently ignoring any effect he may have produced. So subtly, so
dispassionately indeed was he delivering himself of these remarks that it
was impossible to tell whether he meant their application to be personal,
to me, or general, to my associates. "I went to jail when I was fourteen
because I wanted a knife to make kite sticks, and I stole a razor from a
barber. I was bitter when they steered me into a lockup in Hickory
Street. It was full of bugs and crooks, and they put me in the same cell
with an old-timer named 'Red' Waters; who was one of the slickest
safe-blowers around in those days. Red took a shine to me, found out I
had a head piece, and said their gang could use a clever boy. If I'd go
in with him, I could make all kinds of money. I guess I might have joined
the gang if Red hadn't kept talking--about how the boss of his district
named Gallagher would come down and get him out,--and sure enough
Gallagher did come down and get him out. I thought I'd rather be
Gallagher than Red--Red had to serve time once in a while. Soon as he got
out I went down to Gallagher's saloon, and there was Red leaning over the
bar. 'Here's a smart kid! he says, 'He and me were room-mates over in
Hickory Street.' He got to gassing me, and telling me I'd better come
along with him, when Gallagher came in. 'What is it ye'd like to be, my
son?' says he. A politician, I told him. I was through going to jail.
Gallagher had a laugh you could hear all over the place. He took me on as
a kind of handy boy around the establishment, and by and by I began to
run errands and find out things for him. I was boss of that ward myself
when I was twenty-six.... How'd you like that cigar?"

I praised it.

"It ought to have been a good one," he declared. "Well, I don't want to
keep you here all afternoon telling you my life story."

I assured him I had been deeply interested.

"Pretty slick idea of yours, that dummy company, Mr. Paret. Go ahead and
organize it." He rose, which was contrary to his custom on the departure
of a visitor. "Dro