“I don’t like to start till Pruitt comes back,” remarked Clancy, “but there’s no help for it.”
“Don’t you care,” said Fortune. “Jest think what old Rocks tried to do to you to-night, pard! You don’t owe that old schemer nothin’. Anyway, I don’t reckon anybody will run away with the old shebang.”
Fortune turned out of First Avenue into a cross street that ran parallel with the main business thoroughfare. A block brought them into Second Avenue, and they started along it in the direction of Cerro Gordo Street.
Very soon pretentious houses showed themselves on either hand, and, after a time, Fortune slowed his pace and dropped a hand on Clancy’s arm.
“That’s Cerro Gordo Street jest ahead,” he whispered, “and the judge’s house must be on the cornder. I never knowed where he lived, but if your information is kerect we’re clost to the place.”
CHAPTER X.
HELPING THE JUDGE.
Cerro Gordo Street was a wide, paved thoroughfare, with date palms bordering it on both sides between walk and curb. There were four corners, of course, to the intersection of the two streets, and the two youths halted in the shadow of a palm to decide which corner was the one that ought to claim their attention.
“How we goin’ to know which casa is the judge’s?” murmured Fortune blankly.
“According to that diagram of Hibbard’s,” Owen returned, “there’s an addition jutting out from the Pembroke house toward Cerro Gordo Street. Maybe that will give us a clew.”