"The very d----l's in the cards lately," said the whitest-faced of the two.
"Luck must have a turn," said the other. "By ----" (with a horrid oath), "suppose we try Van's?"
"Van's? Where's that?"
"Why, the concern just opened on the corner above. The biggest kind of suppers there, they say."
"All right," said the other, wearily. "We'll try Van's."
Van is a common prefix of names in New York; but Bog needed no further assurance that this Van belonged to Quintem. The opening of a new gambling saloon under his name (with some wealthy backer furnishing the capital, as is usually the case) would explain why young Van Quintem had not been seen at any of his old haunts on Broadway for a fortnight past.
Bog followed his guides at a short distance. After proceeding two squares, they stopped in front of a stylish old mansion, and, after a furtive look up and down and across the street, ascended the steps, and opened the door. As they did so, Bog swiftly passed the house, and saw that a muscular servant stood within the entry, for the obvious purpose of preventing the intrusion of persons not wanted there. The large diamond breastpins and depraved faces of the two young men were their passports, and were viséd without hesitation by the diplomatic attendant.
Bog took a half dollar in his hand, advanced to the door, which was now closed, and boldly opened it.
The athletic guardian of the place, being confronted with this audacious youth in old clothes, put on a commanding look, and said:
"Well, sir, and what the d----l do you want here?"