started down Grant Street. The original guide watched their disappearing figures several minutes, then walked over to the chauffeur at the wheel of the hired car.
“Gave me a tenner, George,” said he. “Here’s your split. I wonder what ‘Black George’ wants with ’em. Look like fruity pickin’s all right.”
“Easy, pal. Easy,” said the chauffeur, low-voiced. “What the Big Chief wants with ’em is his own business. We had our orders to pick ’em up an’ we carried ’em out. Climb in and we’ll blow.”
The other complied, and the car departed.
Meantime, midway of the next block the party had come to a halt. The new guide, a capable man of middle age with a twinkling eye turned to Mr. Temple.
“Now, sir,” he said, “just what would you like to see?”
“Nothing rough,” said Mr. Temple hastily, looking at the boys. “Just show us the usual tourist places.”
“Oh, Father,” protested Bob, aggrievedly. “We want to see the sights.”
“The young man wants some excitement,” said the guide, slyly. “Well, maybe we can show him a thing or two.”
Mr. Temple did not like the man’s tone. Nevertheless, he made no comment.