"What kind of a place is it?" asked John.
"Don't you know?"
"Have not the least idea."
"You must be from the country?"
"Not very long since I came from that indefinite place."
"Come around some evening and ask for Mike Barton, and you'll find out," said the stranger, in a whisper, sizing John up as a likely victim for such an institution.
"I never go to a place unless I know of its character first," returned John.
"Huh, you don't! I pity such greenhorns as you," flippantly retorted the stranger.
"You scamp!" exclaimed John, hotly, and his dark blue eyes snapped with anger, as the insolent chappy cringed beneath him. "Don't leer at me, or I will wipe up the streets with you."
"Now, my dear sir," replied the stranger, seeing his mistaken opinion of the man he had met; "don't get angry; I feel a little blue this morning."