of sullen unhappiness about the boy. Finally, he tossed the paper
aside, and sat with folded arms, his chin on his breast.

Officer Foley, standing on the corner of Washington Place and MacDougal
Street waved a pleasant salute to a tall, gray-haired man whose
automobile drew up before the corner apartment house.

"How are you, Mr. Seaton?" he asked.

"Rather used up, Foley!" replied the gentleman, "Rather used up!
Aren't you off your beat?"

The officer nodded. "Had business up here and started back. Then I
stopped to watch that red-headed kid over there." He indicated the
bench on which Nucky sat, all unconscious of the sharp eyes fastened on
his back.

"I see the red hair, anyway,"--Mr. Seaton lighted a cigar and puffed it
slowly. He and Foley had been friends during Seaton's twenty years'
residence on the Square.

"I know you ain't been keen on boys since you lost Jack," the officer
said, slowly, "but--well, I can't get this young Nucky off my mind,
blast the little crook!"

"So he's a crook, is he? How old is the boy?"

"Oh, 'round fourteen! He's as smart as lightning and as crooked as he
is smart. He turned up here when he was a little kid, with a woman who
may or may not have been his mother. She lived with a Dago down in