I had worked so hard to accomplish my purpose. I had gone to lengths that made me shudder to think of.
Beside, I knew if they even suspected me my life was scarce worth a rush. I forced myself—absolutely forced myself—not to be afraid.
“Is it much further, Red?” I asked in my best “tough” dialect.
“Only a little way,” he answered. “Do you see that house right by the river bank?”
“Yes.”
“Do you see de woods on de left?”
“The woods,” was a little clump of locust trees, once a shady grove in some gentleman’s grounds in the days when the house would have been called a mansion.
“I see,” I said.
“Well, we get into the sewer through that house by way of de cellar,” answered Red. “We’ve got a underground passage cut jist like you read about in dime novels. Oh, I tell you it’s bully! We’ve got feather beds and eat off chiny dishes. We only take our beer out of silver mugs——”
“You lie,” broke in Schnitz laughing; “we keep our beer in silver kegs and drink it outer gold steins.”