“For Heaven’s sake, Captain,” sniffed Murray, “I doubt that I would have waited for you if I had suspected you were so desperate as to resort to swill barrels.  I”—­

“Cheese it,” said the Captain, harshly.  “I’m not hogging it yet.  It’s all on the outside.  I went around on Essex and proposed marriage to that Catrina that’s got the fruit shop there.  Now, that business could be built up.  She’s a peach as far as a Dago could be.  I thought I had that senoreena mashed sure last week.  But look what she done to me!  I guess I got too fresh.  Well there’s another scheme queered.”

“You don’t mean to say,” said Murray, with infinite contempt, “that you would have married that woman to help yourself out of your disgraceful troubles!”

“Me?” said the Captain.  “I’d marry the Empress of China for one bowl of chop suey.  I’d commit murder for a plate of beef stew.  I’d steal a wafer from a waif.  I’d be a Mormon for a bowl of chowder.”

“I think,” said Murray, resting his head on his hands, “that I would play Judas for the price of one drink of whiskey.  For thirty pieces of silver I would”—­

“Oh, come now!” exclaimed the Captain in dismay.  “You wouldn’t do that, Murray!  I always thought that Kike’s squeal on his boss was about the lowest-down play that ever happened.  A man that gives his friend away is worse than a pirate.”

Through the park stepped a large man scanning the benches where the electric light fell.

“Is that you, Mac?” he said, halting before the derelicts.  His diamond stickpin dazzled.  His diamond-studded fob chain assisted.  He was big and smooth and well fed.  “Yes, I see it’s you,” he continued.  “They told me at Mike’s that I might find you over here.  Let me see you a few minutes, Mac.”

The Captain lifted himself with a grunt of alacrity.  If Charlie Finnegan had come down in the bottomless pit to seek him there must be something doing.  Charlie guided him by an arm into a patch of shadow.

“You know, Mac,” he said, “they’re trying Inspector Pickering on graft charges.”

“He was my inspector,” said the Captain.

“O’Shea wants the job,” went on Finnegan.  “He must have it.  It’s for the good of the organization.  Pickering must go under.  Your testimony will do it.  He was your ‘man higher up’ when you were on the force.  His share of the boodle passed through your hands.  You must go on the stand and testify against him.”

“He was”—­began the Captain.

“Wait a minute,” said Finnegan.  A bundle of yellowish stuff came out of his inside pocket.  “Five hundred dollars in it for you.  Two-fifty on the spot, and the rest”—­

“He was my friend, I say,” finished the Captain.  “I’ll see you and the gang, and the city, and the party in the flames of Hades before I’ll take the stand against Dan Pickering.  I’m down and out; but I’m no traitor to a man that’s been my friend.”  The Captain’s voice rose and boomed like a split trombone.  “Get out of this park, Charlie Finnegan, where us thieves and tramps and boozers are your betters; and take your dirty money with you.”