Peerless Athletic Club
"Hum! Must be a queer sort of club," mused Joe. "I guess they do more exercise with their tongues, and with billiard cues, than with their muscles."
For, as he mounted the steps, he heard from within the click of billiard and pool balls, and the noise of talk and laughter. It was one of the so-called "athletic" clubs, that often abound in low neighborhoods, where the name is but an excuse for young "toughs" to gather. Under the name, and sometimes incorporation of a "club," they have certain rights and privileges not otherwise obtainable. They are often a political factor, and the authorities, for the sake of the votes they control, wink at minor violations of the law. It was to such a place as this that Joe had come—or, in view of what happened afterward, had been lured would be the more proper term.
"Well, what do youse want?" asked an ill-favored youth, as Joe entered the poorly lighted hall. The fellow had his hat tilted to one side, and a cigarette was glued to one lip, moving up and down curiously as he spoke.
"I don't know who I want," said Joe, as pleasantly as he could. "I was told to come here to do my friend Rad Chase a favor. I'm Joe Matson, of the Cardinals, and——"
"Oh, yes. He's expectin' youse. Go on in," and the fellow nodded toward a back room, the door of which stood partly open. Joe hesitated a moment, while the youth who had spoken to him went out and stood on the half-rotting steps. Then, deciding that, as he had come thus far, he might as well see the thing through, Joe started for the rear room.
But, as he reached the door, and heard a voice speaking, he hesitated. For what he heard was this:
"S'posin' he don't come?"
"Aw, he'll come all right, Wessel," said another voice. "He sure is stuck on his friend Rad, and he'll want to know what he can do for him. He'll come, all right."
"Shalleg!" gasped Joe, as he recognized the tones. "It's a trick. He thinks he can trap me here!"