there; but I feared the gibes of the boisterous gang. This bum of mine
was such grotesque horror that the drunken wits of the house would not,
I knew, fail to seize the chance to ridicule me upon my choice of a
chum. Besides it was clothes not whisky I intended giving him.

I took him upstairs by the side entrance, the entrance to the
lodging-house section of the Knitting Swede's establishment. The house
was a veritable rookery above the first floor. I lodged on the third
floor, in a room overlooking the street, a shabby, dirty little
cubicle, but one of the choice rooms at the Swede's disposal--for was I
not spending money in his house?

My companion's complaining whine filled the halls as we ascended the
stairs. He was damning the times and the hard hearts of men. As we
walked along the hall towards my room, the door of the room next to
mine opened and the big man, who signed himself Newman, looked out at
us. I had not known before that he occupied this room, he was so
silent and secretive in his comings and goings.

I hailed Newman heartily, but he gave me no response, not even a direct
glance. He was regarding the derelict; aye, and there was something in
his face as he looked at the man that sent a thrill through me. There
was recognition in his look, and something else. It made me shiver.
As for this fellow with me--he stopped short at first sight of Newman.
He said, "Oh, my God!" and then he seemed to choke. He stumbled
against the banisters, and clung to them for support while his knees
sagged under him. He'd have run, undoubtedly, if he had had the
strength.

"Hello, Beasley," said Newman, in a very quiet voice. He came out of