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Professor,” I echoed.
    “You boys wait for me, I'll be right out.”
    Max said, “Sure, Professor.” We saw him enter the telephone booth.
    “He's smart; he's got plenty of brains, that guy.” Max was overflowing with admiration. “He's only out of jail a week, and I'll bet he's back handling 'junk.' He's a smart Wop. I wonder where he gets the stuff,” Maxie mused.
    “He's got connections. He imports it, I guess. It don't grow in this country,” I said importantly; in my know-it-all manner.
    “From where do you think, Noodles—Italy?”
    “Could be, maybe China. Chinks smoke it mostly, I read somewhere.”
    “Why do people smoke opium?”
    “It gives them nice dreams.”
    “Wet dreams, about girls?” Max grinned.
    We both laughed. I said, “I would like to smoke a pipe of that stuff sometimes.”
    Max said, “Me, too. That's what they call kicking the gong around, hey, Noodles?”
    I nodded and smiled affectedly.
    The Professor came out, puffing on a big cigar.
    “I have a job for you boys; follow me down to my place,” he whispered.
    We walked behind him. He rounded the corner, and went down a dark store cellar. He held the door open for us, and bolted it after us. We followed him in the dark into a rear room. He struck a match and lit the gaslight. The Professor had a complete workshop with assorted carpenter tools, hand drills and a small mechanical punch press in the coiner. I spied a small honing stone. I stuck it in my pocket when his back was turned. On a bench there was a large wooden box with the lid open. Inside, I could see some gears and wheels. It had slots cut into the front and back, with handles on the sides. Max and I walked up close to the box. It was highly polished and looked out of place in that dirty cellar. The Professor stood there looking at us, twirling his mustache.
    Maxie gestured with his head, “What's that?”
    “That?” The Professor was amused. He closed the lid and said, “Let me demonstrate my new invention, something every home should have.”
    He turned a handle, we heard the gears inside revolve, and before our amazed eyes, a crisp ten-dollar bill came out of the slot. He walked away and said, “All right, let's forget all about this machine for awhile. I want you lads for—”
    He stopped. He stood looking at us, twirling his flowing mustache. “You boys want to make some money, right?”
    I said, “Sure, Professor, that's what we're here for.”
    He looked gravely at us, “I know you lads are smart, and I can trust you to keep your mouths shut, right?”
    We both echoed, “Right.”
    He smiled, showing his large white teeth. “Fine, fine, you're good lads, just the type I can trust. I wouldn't ask anybody else, because most young boys talk too much. Now, here's what I want you to do for me: you know where Mott Street is?”
    “Yep, Professor,” Maxie answered proudly. “Noodles knows this city like a book.”
    “Mott Street is in Chinatown,” I said.
    “That's right.”
    He took a small round ball, resembling putty, out of a drawer. “Keep this in your pocket. Deliver it to the store at this address. Just leave it on the table, and walk out. That's all you do. All right?”
    He made us repeat the number of the store over and over again until we had memorized it.
    “Be careful with it. It's valuable, and don't play with it.”
    Maxie nodded. “Yep, Professor, we know what's inside.”
    The Professor raised his eyebrows questioningly.
    “Junk,” I said.
    The Professor chuckled. He patted me on the back.
    “Smart boy, I'll wait here for you, and I'll have a dollar apiece for you when you get back.”
    When we reached Chinatown, we found the store easily. As we opened the door, a cop swinging his club passed us without giving us a second glance. The bell hanging over the door gave a faint, creepy tinkle as we walked in. In the murky light, we were barely able to distinguish a large, fat Chinese seated at a table. He was staring bale-fully at us.