her."

"Pardoned her! And Francesco dead!"

"Dead! No such good luck, Signore,--that brute
of a crab-fisher got well!"




A COAT OF RED LEAD



I



My offices are on the top floor of a high building
overlooking the East River and the harbor beyond--
not one of those skyscrapers punctured with windows
all of the same size, looking from a distance like huge
waffles set up on end--note the water-line of New
York the next time you cross the ferry and see if
you don't find the waffles--but an old-fashioned sort
of a high building of twenty years ago--old as the
Pyramids now, with a friendly janitor who comes to
me when I send for him instead of my going to his
"Office" when he sends for me; friendly elevator
boys who poke their heads from out their iron cages