“Need it!” burst out the other, “why, boy, if shoes were five cents a pair, I couldn’t buy a heel. There’s my sister, too, Hank,” he went on in a serious voice, “she’s sick, and the doc says that she’s got to get away to the country or he won’t answer for her life. Oh, I’m up against it, all right, I tell you.”
A dim plan had begun to form itself in Hank’s mind as the other spoke, but as yet it had not assumed definite form. Instead, he remarked lightly:
“Oh, I guess it’ll come out all right, Jim. Here, take this”—he handed the other half a dollar—“and be here to-night at eight o’clock. I may have something to talk over with you.”
“All right, Hank, I’ll be here, don’t you worry.”
“So long, then,” exclaimed the other. “I’m off.”
With more energy than he had displayed for some time past Hank shot out of the door and off up the street. He spent his money to such good advantage that at the end of an hour he emerged from his small room in a rickety tenement,—which he preferred to an airy room and wholesome work on the farm,—with a clean collar and neatly slicked-down hair. His battered, broken boots, too, bore a glossy polish. But all Hank’s efforts to improve his appearance could not erase from his face that expression which instinctively made people loath and distrust him.
At the appointed time he was at the hotel mentioned by Senor Charbonde, and was closeted in deep consultation with that astute gentleman for an hour or more. When he came out his face bore a broad smile—or grin, rather, the former word hardly applying to Hank’s peculiar expression of satisfaction.
“So that’s the game, is it?” he muttered to himself, as he found his way to the crowded street. “Well, I’ll get the man you want and right on board the Beale, too, but you’ll have to pay for it, and pay heavy. Too bad, though, that the dago had to go and tell those boys about his plans. No use worrying about that, however. I guess I’m slick enough to fix them, or else——”
A cross-town car going in his direction passed before Hank had time to finish his train of thought. He swung himself on the back platform, but had hardly done so before he almost fell off again.
Facing him were the two last persons in the world he wished to see just then—Ned Strong and Herc Taylor. For their part, the Dreadnought Boys were almost as much astonished, though, of course, their feelings had a very different tinge.