"New York Wolf Patrol," was the reply.
"What you doin' here with the ragged army? Say, but they'd make a hit on a Bowery stoige, them soldiers."
"What do you know about the Bowery?" demanded the drummer. "Have you been reading about it in the Newsboy's Delight?"
"I know every inch of the Bowery," was the indignant reply. "When I walk down to Chatham Square the lamps bow to me. I'm hungry for it right now."
The drummer threw out his arms in a gesture of approval.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, then.
"I'm editing this end of a detective case," laughed Jimmie.
"All alone?" grinned the drummer. "Where are the others?"
"Lost," cried Jimmie. "Jere! I wish Frank Shaw was here and had hold of that drum. There'd be something doin'. He came down here to drum for Uncle Sam, but they wouldn't have him. They said he was too short an' fat."
"Fatty Shaw!"