Then someone hissed, "Cheese it, kids. Here he comes. Now lessee you do your stuff, Butch."

Tomsy was a new kid on the block-the kind Butch loved to call an "innocent hick" because he and his widowed mother had only recently moved to the city. Crossing the street slowly in the Saturday morning sun, Tomsy chewed importantly on a toothpick, the way his mother's boyfriend always did a guy who knew his way around.

"Hi, kids" he muttered over the toothpick, his hands deep in his corduroy pockets. His carved-up old felt cap was alight with gay buttons, and a tuft of stiff brown hair stuck up through its open crown.

"Hiya, Tomsy me boy?" quickly rejoined Butch.

Chink took a marble out of his pocket and started to shoot it slowly across the wide step. Harry attacked the dirt and cement beneath his fingernails with his teeth, and his blue eyes looked as round as Chink's marble. Tomsy, gazing idly at them both, sank down on the steps, and said nothing more.

"Hey—what's eatin' yu, kid?" pursued Butch. "Maybe you're innarested

in picking up a quick buck-oinin' it, I mean?"

"Well-yeah! Yeah, I am. Gee, Butch howja know I need dough? Mom's birthday's next week and I ain't got a cent saved." Tomsy turned ragged pockets out for emphasis.

"How do I make it? What do I do? Is it on the level?"

"Level as your flat head. Yuh see, there's this here guy, and . . .

"Bye Butch. Gotta get home now." Chink pocketed his marble and started down the street on the run. He just couldn't face the working out of the hoax he had been so curious about.

"An' I suppose you're in a hell of a big rush, too," snapped Butch as Harry tried to disappear unnoticed. Harry got the threat in his words, and sat down again.

Butch figured, what's the fun if nobody don't see me needling him? Butch craved an audience, to admire his playing of the scene he had built up, with himself the star.

"What guy you talking about?" asked Tomsy a little warily. "What's he pay you a buck for, anyway?"

"Hold your water, kid. That's just what I'm comin' to. All the guy wants of you is to play him a coupla games of checkers. Won't take over an hour, and he'll give you a buck-real dough-all for yourself. It's a cinch. Want to try it?"

"Did you do it Butch? Is that how you got so much money lately-takin' girls out, an' all that stuff?"

"Sure, kid. I know all the answers-see? That's why I got all the dough. Now here's the pitch. You be under the parkway bridge at five, and wait there for this here big guy I'm tellin' you about. He's lame in one foot, an' he'll be wearin' a green raincoat. An' I'll see ya tonight."

Tomsy still had puzzlement on his face as Butch swung quickly down the street-trying to hide his broad grin.

A gray mist-almost rain-was drifting through the air by the river. Tomsy squatted in the short stone tunnel, solemnly talking to a bedraggled cat he had found in the park.

"Lame guy-green raincoat"-he chanted as he swung the cat from side to side on its hind legs, holding the soft forepaws in careful hands. The cat was relaxed and its claws were hidden.