The lines deepened a little in Gorham's face. "What is his name?" he asked.
"Buckner, sir—Ralph Buckner."
"H'm! And why do you think he intends to try to make trouble for me?"
"Well, sir, you see it's this way. This feller come to the same boardin'-house where I live, but I didn't pay no attention to him 'til I see him playin' pool in the saloon opposite. I'm a Tammany man, sir, and I has to mix with all the new ones what come into my ward. I got acquainted with him over there, and he drank awful heavy. He's quiet enough when he's sober, but he talks free and easy like when he gets tanked. One night he says to me, 'I'm goin' to make a lot o' money.'
"'Good!' says I, more to be agreeable than because I had any 'special interest—'how're you goin' to do it?'
"Then he laughed, silly-like, and winked at me. I didn't say no more, but the next night he talked again.
"'What do you think,' he says; 'I see my wife to-day ridin' up Fifth Avenue behind the swellest pair o' horses in New York City. No wonder she shook me for that.'
"'What do you mean?' says I, surprised at his line o' talk.
"'She's Mrs. Robert Gorham now,' says he, 'but perhaps she won't be long.'
"Then I laughed at him, and that made him mad.