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Henry, O., 1862-1910

"The Voice of the City: Further Stories of the Four Million"

And now I'll tell you why I'm talking. Because it's safe.
I'm talking to a man I know. You owe me a thousand dollars, Barney
Woods, and even if you wanted to arrest me your hand wouldn't make
the move."
"I haven't forgotten," said Woods. "You counted out twenty fifties
without a word. I'll pay it back some day. That thousand saved me
and--well, they were piling my furniture out on the sidewalk when I
got back to the house."
"And so," continued Kernan, "you being Barney Woods, born as true as
steel, and bound to play a white man's game, can't lift a finger to
arrest the man you're indebted to. Oh, I have to study men as well
as Yale locks and window fastenings in my business. Now, keep quiet
while I ring for the waiter. I've had a thirst for a year or two that
worries me a little. If I'm ever caught the lucky sleuth will have to
divide honors with old boy Booze. But I never drink during business
hours. After a job I can crook elbows with my old friend Barney with
a clear conscience. What are you taking?"
The waiter came with the little decanters and the siphon and left
them alone again.
"You've called the turn," said Woods, as he rolled the little gold
pencil about with a thoughtful fore-finger. "I've got to pass you
up. I can't lay a hand on you. If I'd a-paid that money back--but I
didn't, and that settles it. It's a bad break I'm making, Johnny, but
I can't dodge it. You helped me once, and it calls for the same.


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