"What makes you look so glum?"
"I'm only after being turned out of police court this morning."
"What was the rap, Mike?"
"I'm looking too respectable. They asked me where I got the clothes. I told them I was working, which was true. I have been a waiter for three months. The flymen took me to headquarters. I was gathered in to make a reputation for those two shoo-flies. Whenever I square it and go to work I am nailed regularly, because my mug is in the Hall of Fame. When I am arrested, I lose my job every time. Nobody knows you now, Jim. You could tear the town open."
I made a mental resolution to follow Mike's advice very soon—as soon as my health was a little better. Just then Jack, a boyhood pal of mine, who knew the old girls, Sheenie Annie and the rest, came in. I was mighty glad to see him, and said so to him.
"I guess you've got the advantage of me, bloke," was his reply.
"Don't you remember Jimmy the Kid, ten years ago, in the sixth?" I jogged his memory with the names of a few pals of years ago, and when he got next, he said:
"I wouldn't have known you, Jim. I thought you were dead many years ago in stir. I heard it time and time again. I thought you were past and gone."
After a short talk, I said:
"Where's Sheenie Annie?"