It occurred to him that an old acquaintance—rather a shady acquaintance by the way—used to live in Jersey City. He would go over and see him. It would while away the time in a pleasant manner, and he might get news of his other companions, for he had been out of the city himself for several years. In fact, for we need not keep the secret from the reader, he had been passing three years in seclusion at the village of Sing Sing on the Hudson. That accounted for his father having been spared any visits for that length of time.
James Barclay turned down Cortlandt Street, and made his way to the ferry at the foot of the street. He invested three cents in a ferry ticket, and in a few minutes set foot in Jersey City.
“It’s a long time since I have been here,” he reflected. “Ten to one Jack isn’t hanging out at the old place. However, I can see.”
He made his way to the former abode of his old friend, Jack Cratts, who was much such a character as himself, but, being more prudent, less apt to get into trouble.
He only met with disappointment. Another family occupied the room once tenanted by Jack, and he could obtain no information as to the whereabouts of his friend.
James Barclay was disappointed. The time was hanging heavily on his hands. He made his way slowly toward the ferry, when he encountered a poorly dressed woman of about thirty, carrying a heavy basket of clothes. She was evidently a laundress.
His face lighted up with instant recognition.
“Is it you, Ellen?” he said.
The woman turned pale, and nearly dropped the basket she was carrying.
“James!” she ejaculated, faintly.