disturb but not enough to settle his wits, but he is no more than
following out the legitimate path of his superstitions and predicaments,
which I will explain to you." With that I relates the facts about
the palmist lady and how the finger of suspicion points to him as an
instrument of good fortune. "Now, understand," I concludes, "my position
in this riot. I am the friend of me friend Tobin, according to me
interpretations. 'Tis easy to be a friend to the prosperous, for it
pays; 'tis not hard to be a friend to the poor, for ye get puffed up by
gratitude and have your picture printed standing in front of a tenement
with a scuttle of coal and an orphan in each hand. But it strains the
art of friendship to be true friend to a born fool. And that's what I'm
doing," says I, "for, in my opinion, there's no fortune to be read from
the palm of me hand that wasn't printed there with the handle of a pick.
And, though ye've got the crookedest nose in New York City, I misdoubt
that all the fortune-tellers doing business could milk good luck from
ye. But the lines of Danny's hand pointed to ye fair, and I'll assist
him to experiment with ye until he's convinced ye're dry."

After that the man turns, sudden, to laughing. He leans against a corner
and laughs considerable. Then he claps me and Tobin on the backs of us
and takes us by an arm apiece.

"'Tis my mistake," says he. "How could I be expecting anything so fine
and wonderful to be turning the corner upon me? I came near being found
unworthy. Hard by," says he, "is a café, snug and suitable for the
entertainment of idiosyncrasies. Let us go there and have drink while we
discuss the unavailability of the categorical."

So saying, he marched me and Tobin to the back room of a saloon, and
ordered the drinks, and laid the money on the table. He looks at me and