"You bet!" says he. "Cap'n Bill warned me about that special."
"Did, eh?" says I. "Well, he needn't; for it's been out of business for years. So has Honest John Kelly's, and Theiss's, and Stevenson's. What vintage is this, anyway? When was it your friend took in the sights last?"
"Wall, I guess it's been quite awhile," says Jim Isham, rubbin' his chin. "Let's see, Bill opened the store in '95, and for a couple of years before that he was runnin' the shingle mill. Yes, it must have been nigh twenty years ago."
"Back in the days of the Parkhurst crusade," says I. "Yes, I expect all them dives was runnin' full blast once. But there ain't one of 'em left."
"Sho!" says he. "You don't say! Gov'ment been improvin' the channels, same as they done in Hell Gate?"
"Something like that," says I. "Only not quite the same; for when them Hell Gate rocks was blown up that was the end of 'em. But we get a fresh crop of red light joints every season. You tell Cap'n Bill when you get back that his wickedness chart needs revisin'."
"I'll write him that, b'gum!" says Mr. Isham. "Maybe that's why I couldn't locate this reservoir he said I ought to see, the one I was huntin' for when we fouled. See, it says corner of 42d and Fifth-ave., plain as day; but all I could find was that big white buildin' with the stone lions in front."
"Naturally," says I; "for they tore the old reservoir down years ago and built the new city lib'ry on the spot. But how was it your friend put in so many warnin's against them old dives? You didn't come on to cultivate a late crop of wild oats, did you?"
"Nary an oat," says he, shakin' his head solemn. "I ain't much of a churchgoer; but I've always been a moderate, steady-goin' man. It was on account of my havin' this money to invest."
"Oh!" says I. "Much?"