“’Pears to me maybe I did,” replied the florist slowly. “Well, you can go; but don’t let me catch you again, that’s all!”
And he shook his head decidedly.
Without waiting to reply I left, and made my way to the street. I had lost several minutes arguing with the man, and now Mr. Norton was out of sight.
On the curbstone I paused, undecided which way to proceed next.
“Looking for the man that run out of here?” asked a boy who sat on a stoop near by whittling a boat with a jackknife.
“I am,” I replied quickly. “Which way did he go?”
“That way.” And the boy jerked his thumb in the direction.
Suddenly an idea popped into my head.
“Is the depot in that direction?” I questioned.