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One morning I was trying to cross Broadway, dodging the trolleys that swirled around the curves, when a man laid his hand on my arm with a grip that hurt me.

It was Muffles!

Not a tramp; not a ragged, blear-eyed vagabond–older, more serious, the laugh gone out of his eyes, the cheeks pale as if from long confinement. Dressed in dark clothes, his face cleanshaven; linen neat, a plain black tie–the hat worn straight, not slouched over his eyes with a rakish cant as in the old days.

“My God! but I’m glad to see ye,” he cried. “Come over in the Square and let’s sit down.”

He was too excited to let me ask him any questions. It all poured out of him in a torrent, his hand on my knee most of the time.

“Oh, but I had it tough! Been up for a year. You remember about it, the time Pipes went bail. I didn’t git none o’ the swag; it warn’t my job, but I seed ’em through. But that warn’t nothin’. It was de Missus what killed me. Hadn’t been for de kids I’d been off the dock many a time. Fust month or two I didn’t draw a sober breath. I couldn’t stand it. Soon’s I’d come to I’d git to thinkin’ agin and then it was all up wid me. Then Pipes and de Sheriff went back on me and I didn’t care. Bowser stuck to me the longest. He got de kids took care of. He don’t know I’m out, or he’d turn up. I tried to find him, but nobody don’t know where he was a-workin’–none of de barrooms I’ve tried. Oh, but it was tough! But it’s all right now, d’ye hear? All right! I got a job up in Harlem, see? I’m gittin’ orders for coal.” And he touched a long book that stuck out of his breast-pocket. “And I’ve got a room near where I work. And I tell ye another thing,” and his hand sought mine, and a peculiar light came into his eyes, “I got de kids wid me. You just oughter see de boy–legs on him thick as your arm! I toll ye that’s a comfort, and don’t you forgit it. And de little gal! Ain’t like her mother? what!–well, I should smile!”