NORTH SHORE BREEZ2Z 5 
dinner over, he whispered into each man’s ear, slipped a coin 
into his hand and clapped him God-speed on the shoulder. Never 
before in the memory of man had anyone at The Alligator given 
away real money. 
In the afternoon, Mykos went out along The Bowery and 
invited a score of unfortunates, male and female, to dine with 
him at The Alligator. It was a little after ten o’clock when 
the first of the girls appeared—a plump, little brunette, in flar- 
ing green, with a big hat and jet ear-drops, a dancer at one 
of the dime burlesques. Mykos was advancing to meet ner, 
bowing and smiling profusely, when the door opened and a dozen 
more came trooping in, laughing, chatting, singing in a devil- 
May-care way; and, from then until dawn, no one slept at The 
Alligator. 
In the days that followed, wine and merriment made Mykos 
many friends. Among them were Stumpy and Bachman, whom 
Mykos found very learned, and ‘‘No. 91,’’ who had an amazing 
number of reminiscences of kidnappings, counterfeitings, jail- 
deliveries and the exploits of river-pirates. Apart from these and 
closest of all was Shouter Allen—a great coal-heaver of a man, 
with big, black face, viking eyes and gnarled, tattooed fists. He 
seemed more to understand the ‘‘Count’’ and became a sympathetic 
companion. Before the week passed, Mykos bargained with the 
Boss to support these intimates at The Alligator. Stumpy want 
out with his basket and gave a pocket-mirror to every one he 
met until his stock was gone; then threw the basket in the 
stove. Bachman, who had maintained existence by selling y}encils 
in the street, gave all his stock to the Boss and, when Mykos 
wasn’t looking, hid his basket behind the office safe, ‘‘in case,’’ 
as he whispered to ‘‘No. 91,’’ ‘‘the nut may blow!’’ and nodded 
significantly in ‘‘Count’’ Mykos’ direction. ‘‘No. 91’’ and Shouter 
had nothing to give away—for the former lived by a mysterious 
business that occasionally required a night’s absence from The 
Alligator, while Shouter had for some time been the fearfully 
respected door-man at The Bowery Mission. Now they were all 
to be ‘‘ gentlemen! ’’—‘‘Count’’ Mykos had said so and_ the 
‘“Count’’ was a man of his word. 
Toward the end of January, Mykos’ funds ran low. From 
the Boss he borrowed an old suit, which didn’t fit at all, and, 
by ‘‘soaking’’ his clothes, watch and tile at Hee Haw Charley’s 
pawnshop across the street, raised sufficient to keep himself and 
his intimates ‘‘in spirits’’ for a week. On the last day of the 
month he went away and was gone all night. Next morning 
the Boss enlivened his sweeping by twitting the ‘‘Count’s’’ 
friendsgon their prospective return to the street. Stumpy and 
Bachman cursed their luck, but ‘‘No. 91,’’ who had been abroad 
all night, vouchsafed that Mykos had not ‘‘chone far’’ and sud- 
denly confirmed his judgement by pointing out the window and 
exclaiming, 
**See there!’’ 
‘¢Count’’ Mykos was crossing the street to The Alligator in 
tile and Prince Albert, twirling his cane as if he hadn’t a 2are 
in the world. 
“*T only went to get that,’’ he said—and placed on the bar 
a roll of bills as thick as a fist and bound with a broad rubber 
band. 
With time this came to be a regular occurrence. The third 
week of every month always saw Mykos ‘‘broke,’’ as invariably 
he pawned his valuables, and, on the last day of the month, 
always went away to be gone over night. On reappearing next 
morning, his first visit was always to Hee Haw Charley’s, where 
he arrayed himself in his best, even to a violet boutonniere. 
Issuing forth, he promenaded The Bowery, swinging his cane and 
chatting with every burlesque girl he met. For each he pulled 
a violet and presented it with a bow. And the sight of him so 
attired always meant ‘‘something doing’’ at The Alligator. 
While negotiating another month’s lodging with the Boss one 
afternoon following such an occasion, Mykos demanded altera- 
tions. 
‘«These rotten bunks are too public for a respectable gentle- 
man of education and refinement,’’ he said, as the Boss stood open- 
mouthed at his tone of command and flow of speech. ‘‘They’re 
too damned public. What I want is a box with a lid—a room, 
with a door that closes! ’’ 
It was his last shred of self-respect. He had been a good 
spender, had brought lots of trade and there were indications that 
he was going to stay; the Boss decided to make him comfortable, 
A back tier of bunks was torn out, sides were built from the wall 
toward the middle of the room, these were joined by a fourth 
side—and there was the ‘‘room with the door that closes.’’ 
It pleased Mykos immensely. Into it he had brought two 
beds for his intimates and a cot for himself. For all save Shouter, 
who persistently refused, Mykos bought a new suit of clothes. 
And from the moment the quintet moved into that room, they were 
known at The Alligator as ‘‘The Aristocrats.’’ 
Settled in ease, sleeping and drinking became the chief oc- 
cupation of all save Shouter—and Mykos drank more and slept 
less than any other. Shouter, older by ten years, pleaded with 
him. Once, after much entreaty, he induced him to go to the 
Mission. When time for testimonials came, Mykos went to the 
platform and spoke with such earnestness and persuasion, show- 
in. how easy it is to live right by control of the mind, that his 
auditors mistook him for some great preacher. Shouter was over- 
joyed,—he saw complete reformation in the man. Mykos wept. 
Long after the convert had gone, Shouter remained to confer 
with a missionary as to the ‘‘Count’s’’ future spiritual aid. 
When he returned to The Alligator, a sound of uproar came from 
the back room. Shouter pushed open the door. Mykos, wildly 
drunk, was waltzing with the girl in flaring green on top of the 
long table. 
In moments of wakeful relaxation, however, each followed 
some diversion of his own. Bachman read Homer in the Greek. 
from an old and much-soiled volume. He sometimes  col- 
lected The Aristocrats about the stove and _ translated 
aloud for the entertainment of the others. It was dur- 
ing such a recital, as the dawn of a _ winter’s' morn- 
ing was breaking, that Mykos and Stumpy became entangled in 
a discussion of some abstruse question. Long debate, with much 
quoting of the masters, ended in Mykos telling Stumpy that he 
was a good fellow, but, when it came to a knowledge of Greek, 
he was a ‘‘prize mutt.’’ 
““Prize mutt, hey! Prize mutt’’ ejaculated Stumpy, fuming. 
‘*Well—we’ll see as to that!’’ And, taking his feet from the wall, 
he rose and disappeared into the bedroom. He returned presently, 
untying a roll. 
‘‘Look here!’’ he said, holding the parchment under the 
flare of the lamp. ‘‘Don’t read what it says below—who I am 
and what my name is doesn’t matter. Whadyasay, huh?’’ 
Mykos scrutinized the titles in illuminated letters at the top. 
He was visibly startled. A violent tremor shook him; then, turn- 
ing away, he began pacing the floor, hands clasped behind him. 
““Doetor of Divinity from Oxford,’’ he muttered again and 
again. ‘‘Doctor of Divinity from Oxford—My God, my God!— 
Doctor of Divinity! ’’ 
He strode up and down, greatly excited. After a while he 
stopped, hesitated, looked around in Stumpy’s direction—then 
began pacing again. Presently he halted directly behind where 
Stumpy sat, bent forward, his face in his hands. Bending down, 
he half-whispered, half-cried into Stumpy’s ear, 
‘“Well—well—what—of—that? I—I—é¢an—show one—one of 
those things!’ 
Stumpy neither moved nor answered. 
“¢Well—ah—ah de—ya—wanta—see—it?’’ 
““As you say?,’’ Stumpy answered huskily. 
Mykos went to the bedroom, fumbled some moments, then 
came out and placed a roll in Stumpy’s lap. 
“‘The same condition,’’ he cautioned. 
matter. ’’ 
Stumpy smoothed out the roll. There were two parchmenis, 
one above the other. He pulled them apart, and standing up 
where he could see, read their titles aloud to Bachman. 
*¢ <Tyoetor of Science’ from Jena,’’ read one. 
““ “Tyoetor of Letters’ from Bonn,’’ read the other. 
There. was a moment of silence. Stumpy held his forehead 
with one hand, clutching the parchments with the other, while 
Bachman seemed lost in vacant stareing at the ‘‘Count.’’ For an 
instant Mykos evaded the gaze of the others. Then he turned 
abruptly and held out his hand. 
‘“Gentlemen,’’ he said. ‘‘We should all respect each other! ’’ 
The others did not answer. They shook hands in silence---- 
Stumpy, Mykos and Bachman----then, one by one, went to bed, 
each with thoughts that he could not utter. 
(Concluded Next Week), 
‘“‘My name doesn’t 
