conducted tour of the Bowery.

"Well, it's went," said Ricks, resignedly. "You can't count on settin'
up biz with what's left."

Sandy's brows clouded, and he shifted his position restlessly. "Now I
ax yerself, Ricks, what'u'd you do?" he said.

"Me? I don't give advice to nobody. But effen it was me I'd know
mighty quick what to do."

"What?" said Sandy, eagerly.

"Buy a dawg."

"A dog? I ain't goin' blind."

"Lor'! but you're a softhorn," said Ricks, contemptuously. "I s'pose
you'd count on leadin' him round by a pink ribbon."

"Oh, you mean a fighter?"

"Sure. My last dawg could do ever'thing in sight. She was so game she
went after herself in a lookin'-glass and got kilt. Oh, they's money
in dawgs, and I knows how to make 'em win ever' time."

Sandy, tired as he was from the day's excitement, insisted upon going
in search of one at once. He already had visions of becoming the proud
owner of a canine champion that would put him immediately into the
position of lighting his cigar with a two-pound note.