occasional indulgence in the "pigeon-act."

"Draw for lead?" asked Blake, lighting a cigar.

"Sure," said Loony.

Blake pushed his ball to the top cushion, won the draw, and broke.

"Seen anything of Wolf Yonkholm?" he casually inquired, as he turned to
chalk his cue. But his eye, with one quick sweep, had made sure of
every face in the room.

Loony studied the balls for a second or two. Wolf was a "dip" with an
international record.

"Last time I saw Wolf he was out at 'Frisco, workin' the Beaches," was
Loony's reply.

Blake ventured an inquiry or two about other worthies of the
underworld. The players went on with their game, placid, self-immured,
matter-of-fact.

"Where's Angel McGlory these days?" asked Blake, as he reached over to
place a ball.

"What's she been doin'?" demanded Loony, with his cue on the rail.

"She 's traveling with a bank sneak named Blanchard or Binhart,"
explained Blake. "And I want her."