"Belong here?"
"No; just got to New York this morning from London. I say, you old rooster, are you 'crooked?'"
"Yes," assented McGinnis.
"So am I. My pal was nabbed in London, but I managed to escape the bobbies."
"What's your lay?" inquired McGinnis.
"'Whipes' and 'tickers' and such like."
Without following their conversation further, we shall advance the time a few hours, and once again carry the reader to one of those low saloons that are patronized by the "crooked" and "flash."
At either side of a small table sat McGinnis and Daisy.
He was treating her and trying to induce her to join her fortunes with his.
Daisy hung back.