gaged in an apparently care free and leisurely game of pool with one Loony Ryan, an old-time "box man" who was allowed to roam with a clipped wing in the form of a suspended indictment. Loony, for the liberty thus doled out to him, rewarded his benefactors by an ocsasional 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
