Tom laughed and settled back in his seat to watch the city flash past.

A half hour later the curly-haired cadet became aware of the change from
the magnificent crystal buildings to the dirty and streaked buildings of
the poorer section of the city. And with the change, Tom noticed a
difference in the people who walked the streets. Here were men who wore
their coat collars high and their caps pulled low, and who would duck
into the shadows at the approach of the cab and then watch it with dark,
silent eyes.

"Here ya are, Cadet," the driver announced, stopping in front of a
small, dirty building. "Sloppy Sam's."

Tom looked out. The door was open and he could see inside. Sawdust
covered the floor, and the tables and chairs were old and rickety. The
men inside were the same as those he had seen on the street,
tough-looking, hard, steely-eyed. Tom looked at the faded sign over the
door. "That says _Bad_ Sam's," he protested.

[Illustration: _The men inside were tough-looking and steely-eyed_]

"Used to be called Bad Sam's," replied the driver. "As a matter of fact,
I think it's still officially Bad Sam's. You see, Sam used to be a real
tough fella. Then one day a fella came along that was tougher than he
was and beat the exhaust out of him. Sam went to pot after that. He got
fat and lazy, and his place here got dirtier and dirtier. Finally
everybody started calling him Sloppy Sam and it stuck."

"Quite a story." Tom laughed. "What happened to the fellow that took Sam
over the hurdles?"