asked Billy if he might go upstairs into the front bedroom. I don't want
nobody prowlin' 'round--not that kind, anyhow--but he begged so I sent
Billy up with him. What did he do, Billy? You saw him." And he turned to
his assistant.

"Didn't do nothin' but just look in the door, he held on to the jamb and
I thought he was goin' to fall. Then he said he was much obliged, and
he walked downstairs again and out the door cryin' like a baby, and I
ain't seen him since."

Another year passed. To the picture of the man sitting alone in that
silent, desolate room was added the picture of the man leaning against
the jamb of the door, the tears streaming down his face. After this I
constantly caught myself peering into the faces of the tramps I would
meet in the street. Whenever I walked before the benches of Madison Park
or loitered along the shady paths of Union Square, I would stop, my eye
running over the rows of idle men reading the advertisements in the
morning papers or asleep on the seats. Often I would pause for a moment
as some tousled vagabond would pass me, hoping that I had found my
old-time friend, only to be disappointed. Once I met Bowser on his way
to his work, a roll of theatre-bills under his arm. He had gone back to
his trade and was working in a shop on Fourteenth Street. His account of
what had happened after the death of "the Missus" only confirmed my
fears. Muffles had gone on from bad to worse; the place had been sold
out by his partners; Muffles had become a drunkard, and, worse than all,
the indictment against him had been pressed for trial despite the
Captain's efforts, and he had been sent to the Island for a year for
receiving and hiding stolen goods. He had been offered his freedom by
the District Attorney if he would give up the names of the two men who
had stolen the silverware, but he said he'd rather "serve time than give