"Our time is limited," broke in the still indignant Ned, "will you please direct us to the address I showed you?"
"Shure I will, me bye," amiably replied the unruffled patrolman, "walk to your left two blocks and take a Third Avenue car down town. When she gets onto the Bowery watch the numbers and you can't miss it."
With a brief word of thanks the boys hastened off in the direction indicated. As they walked away they heard the policeman remark to his friends, the chauffeurs:
"Waal, there goes more food for powder."
"I'm glad we're not staying in New York. I don't believe I should care much for it," said Herc, as the boys walked toward Third Avenue, their ears stunned by the din all about them.
"Nor I," responded Ned. "However, if we pass our tests and are accepted, we shall not have to stop here longer than overnight. That's one comfort."
"That's so," assented Herc. "I used to think there was an ear-splitting racket about the place on hog-killing day, but it was nothing to this."
Thus conversing they boarded a Third Avenue car and rode for half an hour or more.
"Here you are, boys—here's Number 394."
The conductor of the car poked his head in through the doors and gave his bell one jerk, which brought it to a stop.