"'What for?' calmly inquired the other, straightening upon the coal-box.
"'How long a stretch?'
"'A fiver, sure.'
"'I'm not your meat then, cully,' and Dick bolted for the corner with no sleepiness about him. Wilson grabbed him firmly by the collar, though, and there was a scene of plunging and tearing witnessed by the crowd around them that eclipsed Cornwall or Græco-Roman wrestling.
"Suddenly a revolver came flashing out of Wilson's pocket.
"'I'm taking this pot,' said he, coolly.
"'Show your hand,' growled 'Sleepy.'
"'A straight flush;' and Wilson levelled the pistol at his head.
"'That takes this pile,' Dick sullenly assented, and he moved on quietly as far as Sixty-first Street. Once at the corner, he plunged backward and broke loose. The detective's revolver came down on his head with a thud, but he rallied under the blow, sprung aside, and made for the river. He was fleet of foot, and, as he flew down the street, he kept looking over his shoulder, evidently in fear of a passing bullet. But the detective was coming on after him, bound to run him down, and as they passed First Avenue the hue and cry was taken up by two other policemen, who joined in the pursuit. There was fully a block between 'Sleepy' and his pursuers when he neared the river. He saw his advantage, turned into a stone-yard, dodged among the bowlders, scaled a fence, and made off. Dick has been in the hands of the police before this week, but managed to get away."