"Two or three inches taller than you are. You had better take the picture with you. I have an extra one, which you can put in your pocket to help you identify him. By the way, it will be as well that you should be supplied with money in case it is necessary to bring him home in a cab."
Frank understood what the mother found it difficult to explain. She feared that her boy might be the worse for drink.
She handed our hero a five-dollar bill.
"I will use it prudently, madam," said he, "and account to you for all I do not use."
"I trust you wholly," said the lady. "Now go as quickly as possible."
Frank looked at the two addresses he had on the card. The billiard-saloon was on the east side of the city, in an unfashionable locality.
"I'll go there first," he decided.
Crossing to Third avenue he hailed a car, and rode down-town. His knowledge of the city, gained from the walks he took when a newsboy, made it easy for him to find the place of which he was in search. Though it was nearly midnight, the saloon was lighted up, and two tables were in use. On the left-hand side, as he entered, was a bar, behind which stood a man in his shirt-sleeves, who answered the frequent calls for drinks. He looked rather suspiciously at Frank's uniform when he entered.
"What do you want?" he asked. "Have you any message for me?"
"No," said Frank, carelessly. "Let me have a glass of lemonade."