He had gone back to
his trade and was working in a shop on Fourteenth Street. His account of
what had happened after the death of "the Missus" only confirmed my
fears. Muffles had gone on from bad to worse; the place had been sold
out by his partners; Muffles had become a drunkard, and, worse than all,
the indictment against him had been pressed for trial despite the
Captain's efforts, and he had been sent to the Island for a year for
receiving and hiding stolen goods. He had been offered his freedom by
the District Attorney if he would give up the names of the two men who
had stolen the silverware, but he said he'd rather "serve time than give
his pals away," and they sent him up. Some half-orphan asylum had taken
the children. One thing Bowser knew and he would "give it to me
straight," and he didn't care who heard it, and that was that there was
"a good many gospil sharps running church-mills that warn't half as
white as Dick Mulford--not by a d---- sight."
One morning I was trying to cross Broadway, dodging the trolleys that
swirled around the curves, when a man laid his hand on my arm with a
grip that hurt me.
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