“All right, sir.”
Dodger was glad that further service was required, for this would of course increase the compensation which he would feel entitled to ask.
They entered one of the cars, and sat down side by side.
The old gentleman drew a paper from his pocket, and began to read, while Dodger, left to his own devices, sat quiet and looked about him.
He was rather surprised that the old gentleman, who, according to his own representation, was riding upon the elevated road for the first time, seemed to feel no curiosity on the subject, but conducted himself in all respects like an experienced traveler.
“He’s a queer customer!” thought Dodger. “However, it’s all one to me, as long as he pays me well for the job.”
They got out at One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, and struck down toward the river, Dodger carrying the valise.
“I wonder where we’re going?” he asked himself.
At length they reached a wooden house of three stories, standing by itself, and here the stranger stopped.
He rang the bell, and the door was opened by a hump-backed negro, who looked curiously at Dodger.