In the Café Roma, Nucky sat down at a little table and ordered a bowl
of ministrone with red wine. He did not devour his food as the normal
boy of his age would have done. He ate slowly and without appetite.
When he was about half through the meal, a young Irishman in his early
twenties sat down opposite him.

"Hello, Nucky! What's doin'?"

"Nothin' worth talking about. What's doin' with you?"

"O, I been helping Marty, the Dude, out. He's going to be alderman
from this ward, some day."

"That's the idea!" cried Nucky. "That's what I'd like to be, a
politician. I'd rather be Mayor of N' York than king of the world."

"I thought you wanted to be king o' the dice throwers," laughed the
young Irishman.

"If I was, I'd buy myself the job of Mayor," returned Nucky. "Coming
over to-night?"

"I might, 'long about midnight. Anything good in sight?"

"I hope so," Nucky's hard face looked for a moment boyishly worried.

"Business ain't been good, eh?"

"Not for me," replied Nucky. "Luigi seems to be goin' to the bank
regular. You bet that guy don't risk keepin' nothin' in the house."