Turning, our lad saw a man, evidently, from the bag that he carried, a traveller like himself, and, greatly relieved to find some one willing to aid him in this time of trouble, he gratefully accepted the stranger's offer of guidance.
"All right, then, come along," said the man. "No, we don't want no hack. Street-cars are good enough for us."
With this he waved aside the clamorous throng of drivers, and led the way to a car bound down-town. As they rode, the stranger, while admitting that he was not a resident of New York, so impressed our lad with his knowledge of the great city, and of the manifold pitfalls that it held for the unwary, that he inwardly congratulated himself upon having met so willing a guide, who at the same time was so competent to direct his steps.
The car took them within one block of their destination, and when Jo read the name "Brevoort" over the doorway of the hotel he believed his troubles to be ended, for surely here he would find his friend, or at least learn of his whereabouts.
"Is there a gentleman by the name of Wang stopping here?" he inquired of a sprucely attired clerk at the desk.
"Not if we know it," was the reply, accompanied by a supercilious stare.
"But I received a telegram only a few hours ago telling me to meet him here."
"Can't help that. If he is here it's without my knowledge, and you'll have to find him as best you can."
"Then I will take a room for the night and wait till he comes," said poor Jo, desperately. "This is the only address he gave, and so he is sure to look here for me sooner or later."
"Haven't a vacant room in the house," answered the clerk, shortly; "and if you think this hotel is a Chinese joint you're mightily mistaken."