"I shouldn't think you would," said Hamilton, "I don't like his looks. Can I have some dinner?" he added, laying on the table a book he had just taken from his pocket, for the boy when alone always read at his meals.
"Certainly, sair," and the proprietor rattled off a string of dishes from which the boy made a copious selection, for he was hungry.
But he noticed that the man who had been sitting at the table had not left the place but was furtively watching, a few steps away. He was an ugly-looking customer, and Hamilton, full of grit as he was, felt uneasy. Casting his eye down to where he had laid his book, he noticed the piece of paper sticking from beneath it, and noticed moreover, a heavy shadow as though there were a drawing on the other side. His pulse beat a little faster as an idea came into his mind, but he showed no sign until the proprietor returned to set the table.
"I think," he said, watching the stranger carefully as he spoke, "that gentleman left a paper behind him. Ask him."
The proprietor, looking much puzzled, put a question in Italian, to which was evidently returned a sharp denial.
Still watching him, Hamilton slowly reached out his hand for the paper which lay on the table, only half-hidden by the book, and turning it over laid it flat upon the white cloth.
It was the Black Hand.
FESTA IN THE ITALIAN QUARTER. Boys in Little Italy, New York, preparing for one of the many characteristic holidays. (Brown Bros.)