I wore a pair of ragged trousers, old shoes with my frozen toes almost on the ground. Overcoat I had none, and the coat I did have was thin, dirty and ragged, buttoned up to the throat to conceal a fearful-looking shirt, under which were three others, or I should certainly have frozen to death. As for my hat, I need only say that I picked it out of the ash scow at the Seventeenth street dump.
When I reached the lumber shed on the corner of Sixty-ninth street I stopped and whistled, leaning up against the fence.
Presently I heard a voice speak through a knot-hole in the fence and say:
“Is it you?”
“Yes,” said I.
“All O.K.?”
“Yes,” said I. “I’m to meet him in ten minutes. I had a long talk with him last night and all is fixed.”
“Where is it?” asked the voice.
“Couldn’t find out,” I replied. “You’ll have to follow me and see.”
“All right. Be very careful,” said the voice—then all was quiet.