“Hey, you,” snapping his fingers at Georgie, “gimme a match.” Georgie gave him a few. “I’ll be out of here in an hour,” said the newcomer, inhaling his smoke. “I’ll send you in anything you want. I’m a quick connector. I can get a ten-dollar piece before I get out of the block⁠—sucker born every minute, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” Georgie replied. “I’m sorry for them poor suckers. They’re all asleep down in the Palace Hotel and you’re up here in the can begging matches. There’s one born every minute, all right, but there’s two wise guys going to jail every minute, an’ beggin’ matches.”

The wise guy said no more, but stood by the door waiting to go out. He was standing there when I left in the morning.

Georgie turned to his companion. “That last shot didn’t hit me right; we’d better cook up another an’ begin to get straightened up for court.”