The time was nearly midnight as the Kid walked down the West-Side avenue. Few stores were open, and such as were practically hooted at the idea of a peach.

But in her moated flat the bride confidently awaited her Persian fruit. A champion welter-weight not find a peach?—not stride triumphantly over the seasons and the zodiac and the almanac to fetch an Amsden’s June or a Georgia cling to his owny-own?

The Kid’s eye caught sight of a window that was lighted and gorgeous with Nature’s most entrancing colours. The light suddenly went out. The Kid sprinted and caught the fruiterer locking his door.

“Peaches?” said he, with extreme deliberation.

“Well, no, sir. Not for three or four weeks yet. I haven’t any idea where you might find some. There may be a few in town from under the glass, but they’d be hard to locate. Maybe at one of the more expensive hotels—some place where there’s plenty of money to waste. I’ve got some very fine oranges, though—from a shipload that came in to-day.”

The Kid lingered on the corner for a moment, and then set out briskly toward a pair of green lights that flanked the steps of a building down a dark side street.

“Captain around anywhere?” he asked of the desk sergeant of the police station.

At that moment the Captain came briskly forward from the rear. He was in plain clothes, and had a busy air.

“Hello, Kid,” he said to the pugilist. “Thought you were bridal-touring.”

“Got back yesterday. I’m a solid citizen now. Think I’ll take an interest in municipal doings. How would it suit you to get into Denver Dick’s place to-night, Cap?”

“Past performances,” said the Captain, twisting his moustache. “Denver was closed up two months ago.”

“Correct,” said the Kid. “Rafferty chased him out of the Forty-third. He’s running in your precinct now, and his game’s bigger than ever. I’m down on this gambling business. I can put you against his game.”

“In my precinct?” growled the Captain. “Are you sure, Kid? I’ll take it as a favour. Have you got the entrée? How is it to be done?”

“Hammers,” said the Kid. “They haven’t got any steel on the doors yet. You’ll need ten men. No; they won’t let me in the place. Denver has been trying to do me. He thought I tipped him off for the other raid. I didn’t though. You want to hurry. I’ve got to get back home. The house is only three blocks from here.”

Before ten minutes had sped the Captain with a dozen men stole with their guide into the hallway of a dark and virtuous-looking building in which many businesses were conducted by day.

“Third floor, rear,” said the Kid softly. “I’ll lead the way.”

Two axemen faced the door that he pointed out to them.

“It seems all quiet,” said the Captain doubtfully. “Are you sure your tip is straight?”

“Cut away!” said the Kid. “It’s on me if it ain’t.”

The axes crashed through the as yet unprotected door. A blaze of light from within poured through the smashed panels. The door fell, and the raiders sprang into the room with their guns handy.