“That’s square,” said Will. “Let’s see now. Where’s Ned Hogan’s Retreat?”
“Shippen, below Second, and one chance sold cheap,” said Joe, triumphantly.
“Where’s Tim the Tinker’s crib? Think I’ve got you there.”
“Not by a jug full,” cried Joe, with an eager laugh. “It’s on Beach street, above Brown. Guess I’ll rake down them tens.”
“You’re pretty well posted, Joe,” said Will, with a reflective pause. “Calculate to throw you on the next, though.”
“’Tain’t in the wood,” said Joe, confidently.
“It’s a namesake of yours. You ought to know your own relations. Where’s Black-eyed Joe’s Mill?”
Will gazed at him triumphantly, as Joe sat scratching his head, with an air of reflection.
“That’s my cash,” he said.
“Hold up,” said Joe. “Give a feller time to think. I don’t know him by that name. But I’ve got a notion I could nail him. Ain’t goin to give up the bet till it’s settled.”