Joe was already there, lounging easily upon a curbstone in South street. He gazed wonderingly at Will.
“Well, I’m blowed,” he said, “if the feller ain’t dropped his store toggery and come out in his old rig. I can smell a rat now, and a big one.”
Will was hardly recognizable in the dilapidated suit he wore and in the highly ventilated hat, which he pulled down like a mask over his eyes.
“If things works well you’ll get something to cover this,” said Will, as he handed Joe the amount of the bet. “Seen anybody go up the alley?”
“No, only been here five minutes.”
“Let’s look in, then. Show me the house.”
The two boys strolled carelessly into the narrow street. It was just wide enough to let a wagon through comfortably, and ended abruptly at a similar street running at right angles to it.
It was bordered by houses on each side, of fair size for the location, but in very bad condition.
On the corner of the second small street stood a house of more pretensions. It was a three-storied brick, of wide front. The main room, on the corner, was used as a bar-room, bearing an unpretentious sign of “Imported Wines and Liquors.” The name of the landlord, “Joe Prime,” accompanied this very dubious announcement.
The place seemed well patronized, and the noise within gave evidence of the exciting qualities of Joe Prime’s liquors, if it said little for their purity.