“Beg your pardon, boss,” said the young tramp, slowly and unsteadily rising to his feet. “Just arrived in your beautiful town. Came in my own parlor car. Brought an awful thirst with me, too. Open a bottle of Mumm’s for me, and mark it down on a cake of ice.”
The bartender called a boy.
“Open the basement door, Joe,” he said. “Can’t have this fellow strolling out through the office.”
The basement door was quickly opened, and then, without a moment’s delay, the bartender hustled the young tramp out and thrust him into the street, giving him a push that caused him to lose his feet and sit down heavily on the sidewalk.
“Too bad!” muttered the hobo, as he sat there and looked round over his shoulder at the door, which had closed behind him. “I didn’t hear all of that. They whispered too low for me to catch the whole of it. They’re up to something that interests me a great deal, as a chap by the name of Buckhart is concerned. I will keep my eyes open.”
CHAPTER IV
ON PEACEFUL POINT.
After the ejectment of the hobo Fernald and Hammerswell remained some little time before the bar, talking earnestly in low tones.
The whisky seemed to have a bad effect on Fernald. He grew flushed and excited. His indignation increased steadily as he thought of the trap into which he had fallen, and he repeatedly asserted his desire to square up with Buckhart.
“It’s not enough to simply dope the fellow!” he growled.