“It don’t do to keep them things waiting about round here,” their new friend remarked, carelessly. “I guess I’ll send you back to your hotel all right. Step this way.”
“By the bye, what street is this we are in?” Peter asked.
“100th Street,” the man answered.
Peter shook his head.
“I’m a little superstitious about that number,” he declared. “Is that an elevated railway there? I think we’ve had enough, Sogrange.”
Sogrange hesitated. They were standing now in front of a tall gloomy house, unkempt, with broken gate—a large but miserable-looking abode. The passers-by in the street were few. The whole character of the surroundings was squalid. The man pushed open the broken gate.
“You cross the street right there to the elevated,” he directed. “If you ain’t coming, I’ll bid you good-night.”
Once more they hesitated. Peter, perhaps, saw more than his companion. He saw the dark shapes lurking under the railway arch. He knew instinctively that they were in some sort of danger. And yet the love of adventure was on fire in his blood. His belief in himself was immense. He whispered to Sogrange.
“I do not trust our guide,” he said. “If you care to risk it, I am with you.”
“Mind the broken pavement,” the man called out. “This ain’t exactly an abode of luxury.”