"He'll never be hung for his beauty," said Seaton. "But, Foley, I'll
wager you'll find that lad breeds back to Plymouth Rock!"

Foley nodded. "Thought you'd be interested. Every man who's seen him
is. But there's nothing doing. Nucky is a hard pill."

"Maybe he needs a woman's hand," suggested Seaton, "Sometimes these
hard characters are clay with the right kind of a woman."

"Or the wrong kind," grunted the officer.

"No, the right kind," insisted Mr. Seaton. "I'm telling you, Foley, a
good woman is the profoundest influence a man can have. There's a deep
within him he never gives over to a bad woman."

Foley's keen gray eyes suddenly softened. He looked for a moment above
the tree tops to the clouds sailing across the blue. "I guess you're
right, Mr. Seaton," he said, "I guess you're right! Well, poor Nucky!
And I must be getting back. Good day, Mr. Seaton."

"Good day, Foley!"

And Nucky, staring curiously from the Square, saw the apartment house
door close on the tall, well-dressed stranger, and saw a taxi-cab
driver offer a lift to his ancient enemy, Officer Foley.

"Thinks he's smart, don't he!" he muttered aloud, starting slowly back
toward the Café Roma. "I wonder what uplifter he's got after me now?"