“You bet！ I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was akind of plodder， though， good fellow as he was. I’ve hadto compete with some of the sharpest wits going to getmy pile. A man gets in a groove in New York. It takes theWest to put a razor-edge on him.”
The policeman twirled his club and took a step or two.
“I’ll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around allright. Going to call time on him sharp？”
“I should say not！” said the other. “I’ll give him half anhour at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth he’ll be here bythat time. So long， officer.”
“Good-night， sir，” said the policeman， passing on alonghis beat， trying doors as he went.
There was now a fine， cold drizzle falling， and the windhad risen from its uncertain puffs into a steady blow.
The few foot passengers astir in that quarter hurrieddismally and silently along with coat collars turned highand pocketed hands. And in the door of the hardwarestore the man who had come a thousand miles to fill anappointment， uncertain almost to absurdity， with thefriend of his youth， smoked his cigar and waited.
About twenty minutes he waited， and then a tall man ina long overcoat， with collar turned up to his ears， hurriedacross from the opposite side of the street. He wentdirectly to the waiting man.
“Is that you， Bob？” he asked， doubtfully.
“Is that you， Jimmy Wells？” cried the man in the door.
“Bless my heart！” exclaimed the new arrival， graspingboth the other’s hands with his own. “It’s Bob， sure asfate. I was certain I’d find you here if you were still inexistence. Well， well， well！—twenty years is a long time.
The old restaurant’s gone， Bob； I wish it had lasted， so wecould have had another dinner there. How has the Westtreated you， old man？”
“Bully； it has given me everything I asked it for. You’vechanged lots， Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall bytwo or three inches.”
“Oh， I grew a bit after I was twenty.”
“Doing well in New York， Jimmy？”
“Moderately. I have a position in one of the citydepartments. Come on， Bob； we’ll go around to a place Iknow of， and have a good long talk about old times.”
The two men started up the street， arm in arm. Theman from the West， his egotism enlarged by success， wasbeginning to outline the history of his career. The other，submerged in his overcoat， listened with interest.
At the corner stood a drug store， brilliant with electriclights. When they came into this glare each of themturned simultaneously to gaze upon the other’s face.
The man from the West stopped suddenly and releasedhis arm.
“You’re not Jimmy Wells，” he snapped. “Twenty years isa long time， but not long enough to change a man’s nosefrom a Roman to a pug.”
“It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one，” saidthe tall man. “You’ve been under arrest for ten minutes，‘Silky’ Bob. Chicago thinks you may have dropped overour way and wires us she wants to have a chat with you.
Going quietly， are you？ That’s sensible. Now， before we goon to the station here’s a note I was asked to hand you.
You may read it here at the window. It’s from PatrolmanWells.”
The man from the West unfolded the little piece ofpaper handed him. His hand was steady when he began toread， but it trembled a little by the time he had finished.
The note was rather short.
Bob： I was at the appointed place on time. When youstruck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the faceof the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I couldn’t do itmyself， so I went around and got a plain clothes man todo the job.
JIMMY.