I got up and pushed him down into his chair. “I don’t deserve that. You know it.”
He laughed. “You sure don’t. Old Top, I had a hundred on me that night at the station; it’s spent. Problem; how to live? Bigger problem; how to entertain? I might blow a peter, work a second story, stick up a store, scratch some paper; but non-felonious endeavor, old Bean, is absolutely closed to me. I’ll come to some of the big-time stuff; I’ll have to, if I keep my place; but I can’t help a certain prejudice in favor of postponing it as long as possible. Meantime, I’ve simply got to entertain. I’m supposed to have rocks worth a quarter million, you see.”
“You mean, in the underworld, of course you’re Keeban.”
He laughed. “Underworld’s good, Steve. Marvellous how the human race laps up that ‘up’ and ‘down’ rot. We simply have to have it, heaven and hell, above and below. Who believes in either as a place? Think it out a second, Steve; where, exactly, d’you suppose is the underworld?”
“Why,” I said. “South State Street, partly; and part of the west side. Down in New York along the Bowery, in spots, and near the east end docks.”
Jerry shook his head, still smiling.
“Where is it, then?” I retorted.
“Where’s hell, Steve, these days?”
“Why,” I said, “within one.”
“That’s it; there’s where’s the underworld, too. Among those who carry the underworld within their breasts, I’m Keeban; and therefore needing, more or less immediately,” his tone trailed off practically, “as much of ten thousand dollars as you’ve got in that peter behind you and which you feel inclined to give. It’ll go to good use, Steve; great use! No sense trying to tell you now. Take Christina, for an example. You saw her last night.”